Find My Way Back Home
by balmorhea
Summary: It's been ten years, and the idiots have finally let me out of Azkaban. I think. [complete]
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Anything you recognize belongs to J.K. Rowling and not myself. The first chapter is a short introduction; future chapters will be significantly longer.

Chapter one:

I had no idea where I was.

The first thing I remember thinking was that I must be dead. How else could I account for the soft noises and the white lights? I was unable to think, and it was such a comfort to simply _exist—_or not exist—in this strange dull fog.

But when my brain came out of the fog—six days later, I was eventually told—everything changed. The noises were sharper. It was as though every footstep, every conversation, was amplified. The soft white lights were harsh and overbright. But most disconcerting of all was the fact that I was chained to a bed and Albus Dumbledore was staring at me from a nearby chair.

"You are in St. Mungo's Hospital," said Dumbledore, as though reading my mind. His voice was casual, but there was something about his expression that unnerved me. I felt like a deer in headlights, and could only stare blankly back at him. "I do not suppose you will remember being brought here—the transition can be quite a shock."

I didn't know what to say to that for a multitude of reasons. First, I couldn't comprehend why I was at St. Mungo's at all. If the prisoners ever fell ill, they were left in their cells without a second glance. That, and I was sure, for all my physical deficits, I was never ill. I don't remember being ill, anyway. But more disconcerting was the look in which Dumbledore was watching me. His old face was impassive and blank, but his eyes were sharp and clear. He was looking at me in exactly the same way everyone had in my nightmares.

"Do you remember my coming to Azkaban?" he continued.

It took me a moment to realize he was asking a question, and I racked my brain for an answer. Before I could come up with one, however, Dumbledore spoke again.

"Peter Pettigrew was found several days ago, in perfect health. Evidently life as a pet rat offers its benefits. I came to see you in Azkaban, and asked whether you would be willing to submit to some questions regarding the afternoon in which Peter supposedly died."

Oh. That's right. I remember now.

"And I am here today to determine whether you are still in agreement," Dumbledore added in a pressing tone.

Part of me wanted to give a smart response, something along the lines of, "I told you so," but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I was too tired. But while I couldn't make a smartass remark, I could still be rebellious. "What about it?"

I almost cringed at the sound of my voice. It was rough and dry, and sounded like rock over sandpaper.

"You don't have to answer now," said Dumbledore in the same calm and collected voice. "I'm sure the Ministry would like to hear in on this one."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "I don't want to talk to the Ministry."

"We can wait until you have recovered more fully—"

"_Ever_," I clarified.

There was a pause. I was sure Dumbledore was regarding my childish remarks in the same way he had when I was a student. I hated it.

"But you are talking to me," he said pointedly.

If I could have, I would have laughed dryly at that. I reached to rub my eyes, and was surprised at the amount of effort that simple movement took. "And you're not the Ministry."

"Do you want to tell me what happened?"

I could have cried at that. How badly I had wanted to tell someone—anyone—what really happened. For years, while I rotted away in Azkaban, I had wanted someone who would listen to ask me that simple question.

"I will come back tomorrow," said Dumbledore, getting to his feet. As he did so, he set a handkerchief on the mattress near my free hand. Confused, I brought my fingers up to my face and felt tears there.

Damn.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter two:

5:52 am

A sudden bright light and loud bang brought me back to reality. I jerked awake and looked around for the source of the noise, but the sudden harsh light made it impossible to do anything but squint and cover my eyes. As I moved to do so, however, my hand suddenly snagged on something.

Oh, right. Chained to the bed.

"I need a set of vital signs, so I'm going to need you to sit up for a few minutes," said the intruder.

I must have sighed or done something equally offensive, because then the woman said in clipped tones, "I saved you for last on my rounds, _sir, _so I need you up now. You can go back to sleep when we're done."

My limbs might as well have been jello for all the support they gave me. Slowly I managed to push myself into a sitting position, conscious of the fact that the nurse was watching me. One hand was chained to the bedrail and was subsequently useless; the other was tangled up in some sort of IV line. I tried to extract my legs from the blankets, which had somehow managed to wrap several times around me, and I realized that the hospital gown I was dressed in was hiked up well past my knees. Quickly I tried to cover myself again to preserve what little dignity I had, and turned to look at the nurse.

She was pink-faced with dark hair, and was pretty in spite of the scowl set deeply into her face. For some reason it embarrassed me further to have a young nurse seeing me in such a ridiculous position. I was sure I lost all my former charm while imprisoned, so it wasn't as though I could smooth-talk her into setting me free in order to go find Peter. I told myself it didn't matter what she looked like, and tried to keep a neutral expression.

She worked silently and methodically. She appeared to be skillful, but I still found it strange for a nurse to be so closed-off. Wasn't a big part of their job bedside manner? Oh, but then she thought I was a murderer. I gave an involuntary sigh at this realization, and wondered if perhaps she was the only one brave enough to come in here. As she worked, I found I had nothing to do with myself, so I tried to make out the letters on her nametag.

Hestia Jones.

Once finished, Hestia put her equipment away in equal silence.

"Will I live?" I blurted before I could stop myself. I wasn't in fear of dying, but I felt like I needed to say something to fill the awful silence.

Hestia turned to look at me. I couldn't read her expression. "Your vitals are good, but your blood pressure's rather low. It's to be expected in your case, but try to drink more fluids," she said clinically.

Yeah, why didn't I just ask the dementors for some pumpkin juice more often? I pushed this sardonic thought away and ran my hand over my arm, feeling goose bumps there. "Is it always cold in here?"

She glanced up halfway as she wrote in a chart—my chart, I assumed. "Usually. We're in the oldest part of the building, so the heat regulation isn't as good."

Another silence.

Hestia moved to the door and knocked twice, giving some sort of signal to a person on the other side. It opened, and I found myself staring at a stony-faced Auror. Great.

Wordlessly, he moved to my bed. I felt my heart accelerate in spite of myself. I thought briefly that he might curse me for some sort of misdeed against the nurse, but the Auror simply unchained my hand from the bedrail. I looked toward Hestia, who was waiting with the chart pressed underneath folded arms.

"I need your weight and a few other measurements," she said by way of explanation.

As I had no choice, I followed Hesita down a narrow corridor. She had removed the IV from my arm and given me a set of hospital-issued socks. My movements were still slow and ungraceful, something that became obvious to everyone as I tried to walk down the hallway. I had to lean onto the old brass handrail that protruded from the wall, conscious of the fact that the Auror and nurse were waiting for me with slight impatience.

Well, maybe you ought to introduce an exercise program at Azkaban, I thought bitterly.

We passed several locked doors, some of which had a bored-looking security guard outside. Hestia led us toward a small room on the left, waving her wand at the enchanted lights as she went. Floating baubles suddenly lit up like bulbs, filling the room with an over-bright white glow. The door closed with a soft click, and I was conscious of the silent Auror standing guard over it. I considered telling him that watching me like a hawk was unnecessary—he saw for himself that I could barely walk on my own two feet, let alone make a wild dash for freedom.

I obeyed Hestia's instructions in silence. She obtained my weight—an alarming 53kg—and wrote extensive notes in a chart while a charmed tape measure wrapped itself around me, producing numbers that didn't mean anything to me. After a while, she let me sit on the examining table while she continued her assessment of my obvious poor health. She checked my fingernails, the circulation in my feet, and the quality of my vision. She searched my skin for any marks or scars, my balance for any leaning, and listened to what seemed like every organ in my body with a cold stethoscope.

Finally satisfied, she folded up my chart and—completely ignoring me—turned to the Auror. "We can head back, now."

Fifteen minutes later, I was back in my hospital bed, chained to the rail, and completely exhausted. It was pathetic that a simple examination could zap me of all my strength. On the plus side, it only took minutes before I was out like a light.

* * *

><p>9:30 am<p>

True to his word, Dumbledore showed up that day. But before I met with him a second time, a wizarding psychiatrist was sent to my locked hospital room.

He must have been unnerved to meet with a supposed mass murderer, but he hid it well. The man was probably ten years old than myself, with light brown hair and perfectly-kept robes. He sat in the chair next to my bed and balanced a roll of parchment in his lap, at the ready. I was so taken aback by his earnest interest in me that all I could do was stare. The few nurses and medi-wizards who entered my room made sure to leave it again as soon as possible.

"My name is John Young," he said in a clinical voice. "I'm a psychiatrist with the Ministry. I want to ask you some basic questions."

I didn't say anything, but he must have taken my silence for the go-ahead.

"Can you tell me your name?"

I raised an eyebrow. Is this for real?

"Yes," he said, careful to keep his features schooled. I suddenly felt self-conscious at the realization that I had spoken aloud. "It's not uncommon for severe breaks in one's psyche to occur as a result of long-term exposure to dementors."

Oh. "Sirius Black."

"Do you know where you are?" he continued. His voice was clinical, but it wasn't unkind. It was such a huge contrast to the harsh tones in the minimal conversation I had with everyone else.

"St. Mungo's," I said, still conscious of the way my voice sounded. Before, it had been rough and gravelly; now it was just pathetic, weak, and barely above a whisper. It was as though my vocal chords had died away from disuse.

"Where were you prior to coming to St. Mungo's?"

I felt stupid being asked these questions, and said as much.

"It's only to determine if you're oriented to time and place," said Young patiently.

"I know where I was," I replied flatly.

Young gave me a leveled look. "Do you know what year it is?"

I managed to roll my eyes at that. "I didn't exactly keep a calendar in prison."

Young smirked a little as he made a few notes on the parchment in front of him. It had been so long since I had seen anyone smile at me. I couldn't stop staring at him; it was as though that smirk never existed if I looked away. "Well, it's now 1991."

Ten years. Ten years since I had been locked away, since anyone so much as looked at me. I couldn't believe it.

Young stood up with an air of satisfaction. "Dumbledore will be by to speak with you more later this afternoon. We will probably speak again, but in more depth." With that, he exited the room and left me alone with my jumbled thoughts.

* * *

><p>11:56 am<p>

When Dumbledore came by, I was still surprised for some reason. I wasn't sure how I felt about his return; Dumbledore had always been a symbol of hope and trust, but now—to me—he was more like a beacon of fear. His testimony helped to ensure I never left Azkaban.

I thought I would be more with it, but my brain was still in a thick fog. I suppose it takes a lot more than a six-day sleep to recover from Azkaban. I was halfway though forcing myself to drink a thick, tasteless nutrient potion when he came in. The Healers wouldn't let me eat real food until they could be sure I wouldn't throw it up.

"You look more rested," was his greeting.

I wasn't sure how to respond to that, so I didn't say anything. I hadn't glanced at a mirror, but I was certain I looked like crap.

Dumbledore sat down in Young's vacated chair and folded his hands contentedly in his lap. He gave me a level look, which I returned flatly. "Where was he?" I finally asked.

"It appears he was living as a pet rat to the Weasley household," said Dumbledore. "He belonged to one of the elder Weasley children. It is—to my knowledge—a lucky misfortune that the boy was given a pet owl as a gift for earning Prefect status at Hogwarts. The owl, you see, attempted to prey upon the rat, which had been passed on to a younger brother. In all the commotion, it appears Peter transformed back into his human form."

All these feelings inside me were tangling up together, making it difficult to come up with a response. All I could do was stare at Dumbledore in earnest silence.

"Since that time, Peter has remained with the Ministry. He has stated—rather profusely, you see—that you were trying to kill him ten years ago, and you would do so again."

That statement tugged at the deep hatred and anger I had lived off of while in Azkaban. It had been pushed aside a little to make room for the confusion and surprise I felt at being in St. Mungo's, but now it was back. "If he was an innocent man, why would he hide as a rat for ten years?"

Dumbledore gave me a look I couldn't quite place, but I didn't really care. I wanted to blast Peter into pieces. "It seems he was sure you would come after him."

"I was in Azkaban," I replied shortly.

There was an awkward silence in which Dumbledore watched me with a stony expression and I fought the urge to wrestle free from my restraints and hunt down Peter.

"Did you know Peter was alive all this time?" Dumbledore asked.

I suddenly felt impatient with his questions. The anger inside me was swirling around, making it difficult to think. "Of course I knew. Why do you think I survived Azkaban?"

Dumbledore's frown deepened a little at that. "How do you mean?" he asked calmly.

It occurred to me that I would have to explain everything—how I had believed Remus to be the spy, how we switched Secret-Keepers, about the three of us being Animagi—but that would take too long. Peter was living it up with a wizarding family, particularly one that had children attending Hogwarts, where Harry would be going. I didn't have time to explain everything, because every minute wasted was a chance for Peter to escape again. "Where is Peter now?"

"He is with the Ministry," said Dumbledore simply.

I tried not to roll my eyes. "I know that, but _where_?"

"I cannot tell you that, Sirius."

Now I did roll my eyes. "That's not what I—Is someone keeping an eye on him? Making sure he doesn't get away?"

Dumbledore adjusted his position in the chair. While I was feeling horribly anxious, Dumbledore was sitting with perfect calm. It was infuriating. I wanted to make him understand, but I couldn't make sense of the jumbled mess inside me.

"Get away from who?"

Merlin, this was aggravating. "From the Ministry!" I said exasperatedly. I'm sure my words would sound more significant if my voice wasn't cracking so much. "You can't let him escape again!"

"Escape from who? Sirius, why would Peter escape? You make it sound as though he is guilty of something."

Damn it, he is! "He's the Secret-Keeper!" I tried to yell, but all that happened was that my voice sounded more hoarse than ever. "He's the one! We switched, and I was the only one who knew—"

Dumbledore started shaking his head sadly. I stared at him in bewilderment. "Sirius, you are mistaken. Lily and James Potter chose _you _as their Secret-Keeper, not Peter."

I was too stunned to speak. I could feel my breath catching in my throat, and my heart beat furiously against my chest. While in Azkaban, it had always played out like this: I dreamed I finally had the chance to tell someone what really happened, and they still didn't believe me. But this wasn't Azkaban, so why…?

"You have to believe me," I finally said. There was a desperate note of pleading I didn't recognize. I searched Dumbledore's face for some sign of hope, but it was flat and expressionless. "If you let Peter get away again, then he's going to go after Harry!"

This seemed to snag Dumbledore's attention. His closed expression suddenly turned into one of surprise and concern. "What about Harry?"

"I was too stupid to see it," I said hurriedly. "Peter was the one—and since everyone thinks it was me, he's in the perfect position to hand Harry over to Voldemort at the first opportunity. You said yourself that Peter had been living with a boy who went to Hogwarts—you think that's coincidence?"

Dumbledore gave a small sigh. "Sirius—"

"No, listen to me!" I interrupted roughly. I realized I was still holding the foul potion the Healers had given me, and slammed it roughly on the bedside table. "I don't care what you do with me, but you have to protect Harry! Half the Death Eaters in Azkaban know Voldemort isn't gone for good—and how many other Death Eaters managed to avoid Azkaban? You don't think it's likely that they would try to find him?"

"If Peter's a Death Eater, why didn't he try to rejoin them after you were arrested?"

I wanted to shake some sense into Dumbledore. It was lucky I was chained to the bed, or I otherwise might have. "Why would any of them? Peter was always a coward—he wouldn't go back unless he knew Voldemort was strong enough to protect him. And who would dare say Peter double-crossed them if he could hand Harry over?"

"That is a very serious accusation," said Dumbledore. His tone was still calm, but I could see something in his expression that was uneasy.

"Oh, what, and locking me in Azkaban forever isn't?" I snapped in spite of myself. I could feel myself shaking from anger. _Why _wouldn't he listen to me? Didn't he realize how serious this was? "Why is it so hard to imagine that Peter was a spy and a Death Eater, but it's perfectly acceptable to think I murdered my best friend's family?"

Dumbledore stood up suddenly, like he was about to leave.

"What will it take for you to believe me?" I tried to yell. Instinctively, I pulled against my restraints. I felt like a caged animal, and I'm sure I looked like one. "Veritaserum? My memories? Legilimency?"

"I'll be in touch with you again as soon as I can," was all Dumbledore said. He wasn't even looking at me. Before I knew it, he had exited my room, leaving me completely alone and overcome with anger.

* * *

><p>8:02 pm<p>

I was in a foul mood the rest of the day. I refused to touch the disgusting nutrient potions the nurses brought, and even challenged them to force it down my throat. I wouldn't speak to Young the Ministry Psychiatrist, and I could barely stand to suffer the knowledge of the Auror guard wasting their time outside my door when Peter was running free.

Eventually people stopped trying to enter my room, leaving me alone to fight the urge to break out. There was no _Daily Prophet _or even a _Witch Weekly _floating around, so I was left with nothing but my own thoughts to occupy myself. All I could think about was Peter casually strolling through the Ministry, perhaps having tea with Barty Crouch and telling him all about how I was a psychotic murderer. Well, if I could get out of this horrid hospital, I would certainly become one.

A knock at my door interrupted me from my brooding. I looked up to see Hestia standing in the doorway, a towel-laden wheelchair nearby.

"The Ministry wants to see you tomorrow," she said, leaning her weight onto one foot. "I figured you might want to clean up first."

I didn't know how to respond to this. I was still furious with Dumbledore, but the idea of a shower was luring. I figured I shouldn't irritate Hestia, or she might not offer me the opportunity again. I sat up in the bed and eyed the device near her. "Do I have to use the wheelchair?"

Hestia gave me a look. "Yes."

Fine.

Once more, my Auror guard unchained me from the bed. I grudgingly sat in the wheelchair, feeling even more foolish than before. Hestia set the towels in my lap and wheeled me down the same corridor we passed through that morning, but this time took me into a large bathroom on the opposite end.

The bathroom looked like a smaller version of the ones at Hogwarts. Thick stained glass windows glinted in the enchanted candlelight in panes of green, yellow, and red. There were no portraits in here, but the largest window held an image of what appeared to be saints treating the criminally ill. Of course. Tile covered the floor and blended almost imperceptibly with the stone walls. Near the front door were a row of sinks and two toilet stalls. On the opposite end were four steel shower heads, protruding from the wall like snakes ready to strike. I immediately noticed that the only barrier that would be between myself and Hestia was a low tiled wall that marked the boundary of the showers.

Almost immediately I considered asking Hestia to turn me back into my room. Before I could, however, she shut the bathroom door behind her and parked my wheelchair nearby.

"Er…" I began hesitantly, looking toward the open shower heads.

"In this part of the hospital, the patients aren't allowed to be unsupervised," she said as way of an explanation.

I sighed. "Right."

"I trust you can manage on your own?"

I balked at that. "Yeah—of course I can—"

"Good," she said, signaling for me to stand up. "I'll wait here—don't worry, I'm not going to watch you—and you can tell me when you're ready."

I looked back at the shower. While there was a wall dividing it, it suddenly looked much shorter. I hated the idea of having a babysitter while I did something as private as shower, but I supposed it wasn't so bad if it was only Hestia. I think I might have changed my mind if the Auror guard insisted on sitting in.

Hestia piled the towels on the tiled wall before waving her wand at the taps. Instantly, the one on the far side gushed into life, releasing a steady spray of hot water. "All yours," she said, settling herself comfortably in my vacated wheelchair. She propped her feet up on the edge of one of the sinks and began thumbing through a copy of _Witch Weekly. _

More self-aware than I had ever been in my life, I hesitantly stepped into the tiled shower. I glanced at Hestia to confirm that she was preoccupied. I didn't know why I felt so embarrassed at the prospect of someone seeing me naked; somebody obviously had when I was first brought here because my hair had been cut short, my prison robes removed, and the grime from Azkaban washed from my skin.

I fumbled with the ties on my hospital gown and draped it over the wall alongside the towels.

"There's soap and shampoo already there," Hestia called over the sound of the tap. "And there's a clean gown with the towels."

"Er…thanks."

The moment the hot water touched my skin, however, I had completely forgotten about being embarrassed. I just stood there for what seemed like forever, letting the water run over my skin. Remembering the soap, I lathered it into a thick cloud of white bubbles and began to scrub. Slowly the final bits of grime of Azkaban were removed, making me look less like an animal and revealing human skin.

I scrubbed my hair and body at least three times, trying to commit to memory everything about it. The slightly flowery scent of shampoo, the tightness of my skin from the cheap soap, and the way my tense shoulders were forced to relax in the steady stream of hot water.

Hestia kept her word and busied herself with the magazine until I awkwardly cleared my throat as a signal that I was finished.

"You can just leave the towels, I'll get them later," she said, turning the wheelchair around to face me. Obediently I sat down, letting Hestia wheel me out of the bathroom.

The Auror guard had been reading the day's newspaper outside the door, and silently followed us back to my room where I was once again chained to the bed and left to wonder what on earth was going on outside my hospital room. Soon afterwards a Healer appeared and ordered me to drink the two potions she had brought. I forced them down in silence, trying not to choke on the bitter taste of the last one. The Healer left my room as brusquely as she entered it, and before I knew it, I was out.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter three:

8:19 am

It was strange to sleep without dreaming. The Healers had given me a Dreamless Sleep Potion the last two nights. While I was grateful for it, the potion did have the irritating effect of making it almost impossible to wake up in the morning. My brain seemed to be in a perpetual fog, but I would take that over the nightmares any day.

I was due to unwillingly meet with Ministry officials any moment now. While I was still chained to the bed, I was at least more presentable. Hestia had come by my room late the night before, offering to shave my face for me. When I thanked her, she said it made me look less like a psycho killer.

Now all I could do was wait for the dreaded meeting to be over. There was no clock in my room, so I had no way of keeping track of the time. I hoped it would be a bunch of strangers; if Barty Crouch walked in my room, I might rip the guard rail off the bed and try to strangle him.

Finally a knock came, and I looked over to see four figures enter my room, Dumbledore included. I doubted whether Dumbledore now suddenly worked for the Ministry, but it still didn't surprise me that they relied on him just as if he had. There was only one chair in my room, which had been moved to the far corner. All four of them stood flanked around me like I was on my death bed.

"Good morning, Sirius," Dumbledore began, his tone calm and his face impassive. I hadn't forgotten about our meeting the day before, and fought the urge to continue yelling at him. I could save that for later; now, I wanted to know what in Merlin's name the Ministry was up to. If they were going to believe Peter's outrageous lies about how I was the traitor, then why bother removing me from Azkaban at all?

"We have some questions regarding Peter Pettigrew, and the afternoon of November first, 1981," began the official nearest me, a middle-aged Auror with a balding pate. He withdrew a piece of parchment and a quill, which stood poised on its own accord, ready to take notes. "Dumbledore says you stated you were aware Pettigrew had been alive all this time. Is this true?"

How many times were they going to ask this? "Yes," I said flatly.

"How did you know that?"

"Because I never killed him," I replied impatiently. "I wanted to, but he got away from me."

The Auror frowned. "Why did you want to kill him?"

_Now _they wanted to know? I rubbed the tension that had begun to form in my temple. I could tell this was going to be an extremely long day. "I was never the Secret-Keeper. I told James and Lily to use Peter instead of me, because I was the obvious choice. Voldemort—" the Aurors jumped a little at the name, which only further irritated me. "—would be sure to come after me, so I tried to use that to our advantage. I told them to switch to Peter, and we told everyone it was me." A deep knot had formed in my chest at these words. I tried to ignore it, but the guilt began to rise up to my throat.

The Aurors were all looking at each other with skepticism and raised eyebrows. I tried not to roll my eyes.

"Why did you choose Peter?" Dumbledore asked.

I sighed. Why, indeed. "Because I thought they would be safest with him. Peter was weak and without talent—I doubted whether Voldemort would genuinely suspect him as a possible target."

"So you're saying that Pettigrew was the one who divulged the Potter's whereabouts to You-Know-Who?" the balding Auror asked me.

"That's exactly what I'm saying," I said impatiently. "We knew there was a spy close to Lily and James—the only possible people were myself, Remus, and Peter. I knew it wasn't me, so I just worked through process of elimination," I continued, trying to ignore the rising feelings of stupidity at having suspected Remus. "And I made the wrong choice. That's why I went after him."

The Auror nearest me sighed, long and heavy. "So tell us what happened the next day—the day after the Potters died."

It was like setting a bone. I hated re-living the events of that day—and hated the act of telling a group of disillusioned Aurors—but I knew it had to be done. These people had to know what Peter was like so they could protect Harry. "When I found out what had happened, I went after Peter, knowing what he must have done," I began slowly, trying to keep a calm control over myself. "I found him the next afternoon, trying to buy an illegal Portkey in Diagon Alley. I chased him into the street outside of the Leaky Cauldron... I wanted to kill him." I took a deep, shaky breath, then continued, "He suddenly stopped and yelled something like 'Lily and James, Sirius, how could you?' There were Muggles everywhere, and they had stopped to watch. Then, before I could curse him, he blew apart the street with the wand behind his back. In all the chaos, he cut off a finger and transformed into a rat before speeding down into the sewers."

"Did you know he was an Animagus?"

"We all were—James, Peter, and I," I said. I hesitated, unsure of how to explain this without incriminating Remus. I was vaguely aware I was admitting to being an illegal Animagus, but what were they going to do? Throw on another year at Azkaban on top of my life sentence? "James and I thought it would be fun—we could sneak around the school as animals—"

"Around the _school_?" someone else blurted.

"Yes," I said distractedly. "We started studying it in second year, and managed to pull it off by fifth. Peter wanted to learn it too, and he needed all the help he could get. You heard he was living as a rat with a wizarding family, didn't you?"

The enchanted quill was writing furiously on the parchment, which was trailing to the floor by now. The Aurors, who had entered my room with a resigned trepidation, were all now exchanging surprised glances. Dumbledore had remained silent in the background, examining his folded hands while I spoke. His movements suggested indifference, but I knew he had been listening very carefully to everything I said. That was just how Dumbledore was.

The balding Auror ran a hand distractedly over his sparse hair. "Is there anyone who can vouch for this? That you and Pettigrew switched."

"If there was, do you think any of this," I said, pointing to my chains. "would have happened? We didn't tell anyone what we did."

"Why not?"

Because I'm a complete git. "I was trying to protect them. Including Peter."

The Auror grabbed the chair from the corner of the room and brought it closer, sitting down quickly. He leaned closer to me, looking interested for the first time. "You said you chose Pettigrew over your other friend—Remus, was it?—why was that?"

I sighed, feeling foolish. "Peter was always a bit of a coward. Average at best. For some reason I thought that made him innocent, but I should have realized that was the very type Voldemort went after when looking for supporters—he was easier to corrupt. All that time, I was suspecting everyone except the most obvious person."

"Was there anything suspicious about Pettigrew?"

I wracked my brain for something. For ten years I had done nothing but relieve those two days, so it was difficult to recall anything from the time before that. "He was always gone—he used to disappear a lot, sometimes for days. And he was skittish. But we were all like that, it was the middle of a war," I added quickly. As I spoke, I realized that was the very reason I had suspected Remus over Peter.

"Did he ever say anything about joining You-Know-Who?"

I frowned, trying to remember. "No. Not to me, anyway."

The Auror ran another hand habitually over his head. "So there was no reason to suspect he was working with the Death Eaters."

I stared at him, frowning. Was he implying that I was making it all up? "No, there wasn't," I said roughly. "Which is why I told Lily and James to use him!"

"But Pettigrew said there was reason to suspect you," the Auror continued.

Anger exploded in the pit of my stomach. "He did, did he?" I said coldly.

"Your brother and cousin were known Death Eaters," said the Auror calmly. "You were always disappearing, you barely had any contact with anyone except the Potters. He said any little thing used to set you off."

"He's lying!" In that moment, I didn't care about talking with the Aurors. I was prepared to rip Peter limb from limb. "Of course he's going to say that crap! I framed me for everything then, and he's doing it now! Look, I'll do whatever you want—Veritaserum, Legilimency, even a Muggle lie-detector—"

"That won't be necessary," said the Auror, still irritatingly calm. "We just want to hear your side."

It took forever to explain. It was torture to lay myself bare, admitting every stupid decision I had made to be scrutinized by the Aurors. They didn't say very much while I spoke, and I had no idea if they were taking me seriously or if they just thought I was wasting their time.

When the meeting was over, I thought that I would feel some sense of relief, some sort of vindication that I had finally been able to expose Peter. Instead, I was left feeling completely self-conscious of my own incredible stupidity. I revealed every mistake I had made on the way—suspecting Remus, switching without telling anyone, trying to go after Peter in blind revenge—and they all seemed a hundred times more obvious in hindsight.

The Aurors left with the promise to return to collect an official statement. They wouldn't tell me anything about what was happening with Peter, if they were even considering my words, or what was going to happen. I was left to lie in the hospital bed, fighting my way through the jumbled mess of emotions inside me.

There came a knock at my door shortly thereafter, for which I was grateful this time. I hadn't seen anyone since the Aurors left, and there had been no one to pester about what was happening. For the fourth time in three days, Dumbledore entered my room. He must have noticed the exasperated expression on my face, for he held up a hand to signal that he wanted to speak first.

"I'm sure you have many questions, some of which I am sure I have the answers to," he said, settling himself in the lone chair. "Peter is—and will remain—in Ministry custody. There is no need to worry about him leaving until this matter is resolved. The Ministry is considering launching an investigation into the events of November first, and I daresay it will include the matter of James and Lily's deaths. They are coming back tomorrow for your official statement. The issue, you see, has grown more complicated. Upon Peter's sudden reappearance, the Ministry had hoped to gain a confirmation of Peter's statement."

I raised an eyebrow at that. "You pulled me out of Azkaban hoping to hear, 'Yes, it was me'?"

Dumbledore ignored my rudeness and continued. "There are some peculiarities in Peter's statements. The Ministry would normally be quick to dismiss yours as made-up in light of the evidence, but with my advice, they are proceeding to tread lightly."

I sighed. "What does that even mean?" I asked impatiently.

"As we speak, the Emmett and Ramiro Law Firm has decided to represent your case, free of charge. Presently they are putting through a request for a warrant for a skilled Legilimens to interview Peter," said Dumbledore calmly. "They need a certain level of reasonable suspicion in order to do so, however, so it may or may not get through."

I raised an eyebrow, careful not to get my hopes up. "And what happens if Peter happens to know Occlumency?" I asked sardonically.

"That is a possibility, which is why a trial cannot be built upon that interview alone, should Peter's statement support yours. I suspect a full investigation—not only into Peter's reappearance, but your statement—is likely."

I stared at Dumbledore, dumb-founded. "When the Ministry was here, they didn't seem to take me seriously at all."

"Ah, well, they just need some strong encouragement," said Dumbledore.

That comment made no sense to me at all. So if the Ministry wasn't taking me seriously, why was some law firm trying to represent my case? Regaining my senses, I asked incredulously, "Why?"

Dumbledore raised a quizzical brow. "Why?"

"Why did you bother to drag me out of Azkaban at all? Everyone is obviously taking Peter's word over mine, so why bother?"

Dumbledore gave a small sigh and was silent for so long that I was sure he wasn't going to respond. "I will admit that I was initially inclined to believe Peter. However, something you told me yesterday changed my mind."

I frowned. "What do you mean?"

"You asked me why I thought an innocent man would hide as a rat when there was no danger," explained Dumbledore calmly. "When I returned home, I did have a very long think on the matter, and determined that I could not imagine a reason for any such thing. You also made a comment about protecting Harry. I must admit, it was rather…unexpected."

What was Dumbledore talking about? When I had said those things, I had also made it very clear I wanted to kill Peter. What, did he just overlook that part? I ran a hand wearily across my eyes, impatient with Dumbledore's irritating habit of being vague. "Let me ask you something," I said harshly. "Do you even believe me?"

Dumbledore stood up to leave, looking at the floor as he did so. He turned back from the door and fixed me with a sober expression. "I must admit that I am afraid to." Without further elaboration, Dumbledore left my room.

What the hell was that?

* * *

><p>The next day, 9:14 am<p>

I realized being woken up at the crack of dawn for a brief examination was becoming a routine. Hestia wasn't here this morning, so instead I had to put up with a different nurse who refused to make eye contact. Hestia wasn't exactly brimming with pleasantries, but she did at least acknowledge me. I was forced to sit in the freezing examining room while the usual measurements were taken, and wordlessly wheeled back to my room. I'm sure I would be able to walk the distance by now, but the nurses never gave me the opportunity.

I was unable to fall back asleep once woken, because the Healer was brought to my room. This was perhaps only the second or third time I had seen him, as it was usually the nurses who came. The Healer decided I wasn't gaining weight fast enough, so he doubled my intake of foul nutrient potions. I had to bite back my tongue at this—"why bother" seemed to be all I could think lately. Why bother make me regain my health if I was going to be chucked back into Azkaban? Why bother to harass me about statements and explanations if the Ministry was going to believe Peter?

I had to promise to force down the thick potions, otherwise the Healer would send someone to babysit me and make sure I drank it anyway. I asked him when I would be allowed to eat real food and was given a look that clearly said, "Don't bother me with those questions. Be grateful we're giving you Nutrient Potions instead of Azkaban sludge."

So by eight in the morning, I was stuck chained to my bed, trying to force down the potion while I itched to just walk around my room. Didn't muscles atrophy from disuse? Surely I could persuade the Healer to let me just take a turn about the room a few times. Before I could think of how I would get the Healer back to my room in the first place, there came another knock at the door. No one really knocked to get permission, it was more of a signal that someone was coming. Again, why bother—it wasn't like they were interrupting me in some new murderous plot.

A woman I had never seen before was standing in my doorway. The first thing I noticed was how formal and professional she appeared, and what a ludicrous comparison it was to me, lying wrinkled and barely-kept in a hospital bed. Her shoes clicked on the floor as she walked across the room, holding a hand out deftly in front of me. I stared at it for a moment. I knew what she meant by the gesture, I just couldn't figure out why she was making it at all. Tentatively I took her hand and shook it, gazing up at her in slight apprehension.

"My name is Anna Novak. I work for the Emmett and Ramiro firm, and I'm your legal counsel—"

"My what?" I interrupted in spite of myself.

"Your counselor," she repeated calmly, as though she had this exact conversation with people every day. "We have a lot to discuss, so I want to get right to the point."

"Er…sure," I said hesitantly. Dumbledore had mentioned that some group had volunteered to represent my case, but I couldn't figure out why. It wasn't like anyone cared about defending me ten years ago when it mattered.

She took the chair near my bed and opened up the briefcase she brought with her, pulling out multiple files, pieces of parchment, and notebooks. "When the Ministry comes to speak with you, I'll be there at all times. If they attempt to talk to you without me present, you are not to answer."

I raised an eyebrow. "Okay."

"When they come to collect your official statement, I will read over it before you sign it," she continued. "The Ministry will be prepared to use anything they can against you."

"So what's going on?" I asked, frowning. "Why am I getting a counselor?"

Ms. Novak gave me a straight look, her hands folded in her lap over her notebooks. "They're dropping the murder charge against you for Peter Pettigrew, but they are going to just replace it with attempted murder. As for the twelve other murder charges," she continued, hesitating slightly. "They are still registered with the Wizengamot, but that might change. If we can instill a reasonable amount of doubt that you didn't cause the explosion, then I can fight to get the charges dropped. Pettigrew faked his death, and that looks suspicious, so as long as we can show there was no proof—"

"Hold on," I said, straightening up in bed. "I didn't do it—any of it."

Ms. Novak gave me a level look. "That's what I hear. Your case was specifically recommended to us."

I raised an eyebrow. "By who?"

She shrugged. "My firm typically represents victims of international crimes, particularly the poor or those affected by major catastrophes."

Well, that didn't make sense. I wanted to ask why they would defend me if that was the case, but I couldn't figure out a way to phrase the question that didn't sound rude.

"Look," said Ms. Novak seriously. "Right now, it doesn't really matter if you did it or not. It's my understanding you were convicted without trial—that's illegal, even in wartime. Not to mention your conviction was based largely on eyewitness testimony, which any legal counselor can tell you is highly unreliable."

I frowned, exasperated. "How am I supposed to convince the Ministry to believe me if my own counselor doesn't?"

Ms. Novak tapped a quill impatiently against the parchment in her lap. "Are you willing to submit to an interview with a court-appointed Legilimens?"

"Yes, and you can make me drink a bucket of Veritaserum on top of it," I snapped.

"Veritaserum is no longer used in official Ministry proceedings," said Ms. Novak. "Statistically, it has too high a rate of false results."

"Oh, well that's just fantastic," I said sarcastically. "Anything else I can do?"

Ms. Novak sighed, obviously tired of my rebellious behavior. "My job is to try to keep you out of prison. If you're insistent on holding onto a not-guilty plea, then there's not a lot I can do to help you—"

"But I didn't do it—"

"But if you were to plead guilty to the charges I cannot get dropped, then we can talk your sentence down," she continued as though I hadn't spoken.

"And what about Peter? He just gets off with a 'whoops, we had it wrong'?"

"Pettigrew is under an investigation as a suspect—like I said, we might be able to prove it was he who blew up the street. But that does not erase the fact that you are still being charged with Death Eater activity and the murder of the Potters. But like I said, we can talk that down. Claim you gave them up under duress, and when we factor in time served, maybe only another five years in prison. It's better than a life sentence."

I stared at her, completely appalled. "I am not pleading guilty to something I didn't do."

She sighed, obviously exasperated. Well, hell, I was exasperated, too. "Okay,  
>she said resignedly. "But you must know that your chances are very poor. All the evidence says you gave the Potters away of your own free will, that you tried to kill Pettigrew, and finally that you killed a dozen bystanders in the process. The Court isn't going to be persuaded, even with Pettigrew being alive. If you want to avoid a life sentence, my advice is to agree to a guilty plea bargain."<p>

This had to be some kind of joke. "So either I admit to something I didn't do and spend only some time in Azkaban and my whole life as a convict, or I spend my life in prison? What kind of justice system is that? Since when is it a matter of trying to prove my innocence instead of my guilt?"

"If we can find more evidence, I can petition to re-examine your case," said Ms. Novak. "Is there anyone at all who can vouch for you? Anyone who knew you even suggested switching Secret-Keepers?"

"The only people who knew other than myself and Peter are dead," I said dully. Again, that horrible mistake was coming back to me. How could I have been so stupid?

She sighed. "Well, then let's focus on finding enough to instill reasonable doubt in the Court. Like I said, it's not going to be easy to overturn a conviction without any new evidence. The Court might even reject a petition to hear it. Unless Pettigrew confesses to everything, you're still looking at your original sentence."

This had to be some kind of punishment. A lifetime in Azkaban wasn't enough to atone for my stupidity. Clearly I had to have my freedom dangled right in front of my face and watch Peter walk away with it. I couldn't believe that things could possibly get any worse. How much more would I have to suffer until fate decided I had atoned enough?

I sighed heavily. "Okay. What do you need?"


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter four:

6:23 PM

I wasn't sure how much time had passed. In fact, I wasn't sure of anything anymore. Just when my brain was beginning to lift from the fog, I suddenly felt like I was hit by the Hogwarts Express. I felt hot and cold at the same time, and there was a dryness in my throat that water didn't help. I must have spent quite a bit of time sleeping, because the only things I remember are various mediwitches—that's what they were called, I remember now—bringing potions they advertised as breakfast and dinner.

There was a mediwitch in my room now, a pretty one with robes the same color as her cheeks.

"I'm going to assume that's the fever talking, Black."

I swallowed thickly and forced my brain to focus on her face. I knew her face. Where did I know it?

The woman was fiddling with some kind of plastic bag, hanging it upside-down on the bedpost. She was attaching a long tube to it, a tube that trailed down to the mattress and disappeared inside the back of my hand. I stared at it, wondering how on earth I had missed the Healers shoving needles in me again.

"Two nights ago, when your fever spiked," the woman said, turning to look at me.

Was I talking aloud? I wasn't aware of doing that

"Are you feeling up to eating something?" she continued, placing her hands on her hips. I think her name was Hestia. She didn't have her nametag on for some reason.

Food. Right. Like they would give me something other than those nasty potions. I scoffed, which I immediately regretted. It set off a spasm that reached to my very core, and it was as though my lungs were trying to expel every last breath of air inside me.

With the help of a glass of water, I managed to get a grip on myself. My throat felt raw, and there was a dull throb in my head I hadn't noticed before. My limbs felt useless and drunk, and I had a great deal of difficulty keeping the glass steady; so much so, that Hestia had to help me.

"You chose the perfect time to get sick, you know," said Hestia. I noticed she was standing casually by my bed, not doing anything even remotely nursing-like. That meant she was choosing to stay in here, talking to me. Why would she do that? "The Ministry came by to collect your official statement, but you were too out of it. That was two days ago. And judging by all the Ministry gossip I've overhead lately, you've turned things into quite the mess. Half the Ministry is convinced you're still a guilty murderer, and the other half want all your charges dropped."

I didn't understand any of that. It was like my brain had become dislocated. But even if the words didn't make sense, I caught on to her tone. I stared at her for a long moment, frowning. "Why are you nice to me?"

She raised an eyebrow at that. "What do you mean?" There was some kind of anxiousness in her tone, but I didn't understand that, either.

"No one looks at me," I manage to say. I hear the words in my head, but I have no idea how they sound aloud. Probably raspy and a little disconcerting. "They don't talk to me. I'm just a wild animal."

She sets her face in a flat expression and adjusts her weight on her feet. "They're just afraid."

My head sinks back into the pillow, which feels hot and damp against my skin. "But you're not."

"Do I need to be?"

I fight the urge to scoff again, but the sharp pain rises in my throat anyway. Once the coughing subsides, I say a little too roughly, "I'm a wacko murderer, aren't I?"

Hestia's expression hardens. "Is that what you want everyone to think? You made a big show of trying to convince Dumbledore of your innocence, and now you don't care?"

What? "I don't care that I'm innocent, or I don't care if people know?" I ask, barely comprehending.

"You should rest," she said roughly, setting a glass down on my bedside and filling it with a smoking potion. What potion used to do that? She picked up the thick chart from the foot of the bed. "Drink this, it'll clear your head. Your fever's gone, so tomorrow you're getting arraigned."

A rained. A reigned. Hestia left the room before I could ask her what she was talking about.

* * *

><p>7:33 AM<p>

At least I could walk without looking like a fool. That's what I kept telling myself all morning.

I still felt like crap, but my brain was significantly less foggy. I managed to dress in the assortment of clothes that were brought to me—clothes that looked suspiciously like those dug out of the Lost and Found trunk. Still, I couldn't complain. They were better than the hospital gown that revealed more of me than I cared to show.

I was forced to meet with Dr. Young again, who asked me ridiculous questions about the wizarding legal system. Did I understand what murder was, did I know what I was being accused of, blah blah blah. He must have determined I was fit enough, because then the Aurors continued about their business, barking orders at my sluggish brain and body to hurry up.

I shaved again, and was ordered to force down another nutrient potion before my Auror guard showed up to escort me to the Ministry. In a slightly different scenario, I might have marveled at the surroundings outside of my hospital room, which had been the only four walls I'd seen other than my prison cell in the last ten years. But out here, the lights were too bright and the noises too loud, and so I focused on the floor as we moved, trying to block out the overwhelming stimulation. I was so focused that it wasn't until we reached the main entrance that I realized I wasn't in chains.

Either they didn't consider me a dangerous murderer, or they just didn't consider me dangerous. My footsteps were slow and a little heavy, and I'm sure I looked downright pathetic and fragile. I don't think I managed to put on enough weight to please my Healers. The Aurors might have suspected an owl could overpower me if I tried to run. They might be right. In spite of the nearly two weeks of hospitalization, I almost felt worse than I had in Azkaban. Healing really took its toll on the body.

We apparated to the Ministry, which was a poor choice of travel in my opinion. The sudden jerk back to reality nearly knocked me off my feet and made the contents of my stomach leap up. I managed to hold it together, thankfully, and passively allowed the Aurors to lead me wherever we were going. We walked through a series of corridors and narrow passages before I was dumped on a low wooden bench in one of the hallways. There were four more Aurors here, obviously waiting for me. There were bars on the walls and hooks in the ground, which clearly served as anchors to which prisoners were chained. But for whatever the reason, the Aurors didn't put me in shackles. They just stood flanked around me, restless and constantly whispering to each other.

I pressed the side of my head against the cold stone of the wall, resting my eyes. We hadn't even made it into the courtroom and I was already exhausted. I didn't have long to recuperate, however, because then the Aurors cleared their throats and beckoned for me to stand up. I guess it was time. I had no idea what for.

The courtroom was huge. I had never actually been inside one before, but it was definitely a lot grander than I had imagined. The floor was a polished black marble, and the walls were almost thirty feet high, made of smoothly cut stone and intricate pillars. On either side were rows upon rows of wooden benches, all of which were empty. Between them stood an even grander set of seats, no doubt those belonging to the highest court officials. At its head was a high chair and podium, behind which sat a middle-aged witch in purple robes. There were various other officials surrounding her, but I didn't recognize any of them. They were all in the same purple robes, with a silver W embroidered onto the front.

The Aurors led me to the single chair that stood in the middle of the floor, clearly visible from every seat in the room. By now my brain's senses had sharpened, flooding my veins with adrenaline. My heart was beating furiously against my chest, and I shakily sat—or fell, rather—into the chair that was clearly meant for me. There were chains around the armrests, and they snaked their way around me. Guess they did still think I was a dangerous murderer.

It made me feel like a caged animal, and I had to fight the rising fear and try to focus. I glanced around, and immediately recognized Ms. Novak sitting on the bottom bench nearest me. She had a briefcase next to her, which had numerous files protruding. She was writing hastily on a slip of parchment, however, and took no notice of me. I scanned the other faces, half-expecting to at least see Dumbledore there.

He wasn't.

For some reason, my heart sank a little at that. Dumbledore had a huge part of the blame when it came to wrongfully imprisoning me, but as fate would have it, the old man also had most of the power to get me cleared.

I didn't recognize anyone else there. A stupid part of me had half-hoped I might see Remus, and I felt my chest tighten when he wasn't there, either. Ms. Novak was the only person in this room on my side, and she didn't even believe me.

I turned back to the witches and wizards in front of me with a shaky breath. They weren't looking at me, either. Before another moment passed, however, the witch at the forefront called the courtroom to order and a deathly silence fell.

"The case of the Wizengamot versus Black," said a young wizard, handing a file to the witch in the high seat. She skimmed through it very briefly, then turned her gaze onto me. I tried to make it out, but her expression was remarkably neutral.

"Do you understand the charges against you?"

So they were still charging me. I hesitated. In the beginning, I had understood my supposed crimes perfectly, but if they had Peter, what exactly were they charging me with now?

The woman didn't hesitate a second longer. "Twelve counts of voluntary manslaughter, two counts of accessory to murder, and treason against the Ministry of Magic. Do you understand these charges?"

Well, they weren't letting that go.

"Can you speak up, Mr. Black?"

I repeated myself a little louder, confirming that I understood.

The witch made a quick note and then asked, "How do you plead?"

"Not guilty."

I hadn't spoken, and turned to see who had. Ms. Novak still had her parchment out, but she was looking at the court officials with full attention. She was standing now, too, which I thought made her look more official.

"Very well," said the witch. "Trial is to be set September fourth. Is there any request for remand, Mr. Rochester?"

A man seated on the opposite side of the room from Ms. Novak stood up and cleared his throat, and said clearly, "Yes, Madam. We request that Mr. Black be held in full Ministry custody—"

"Madam, a return to Azkaban would only incapacitate my client," interrupted Ms. Novak loudly. "Due to the severe nature of a dementor's effects, I think it would be highly irresponsible to return him to Azkaban—"

"It would also be 'highly irresponsible' to let a murderer walk freely through the wizarding community," Mr. Rochester countered. He was looking at Ms. Novak as he spoke. He was a tall, thin man, with graying hair and mustache. He looked an awful lot like Barty Crouch.

"My client has not been convicted," said Ms. Novak firmly, shooting a dark look at her opponent. She looked back at the witch overlooking this bizarre legal affair, and continued, "Mr. Black has not yet completed his medical treatment at St. Mungo's Hospital—"

"And what do you propose?" the witch asked, raising an eyebrow. "He cannot stay in the hospital forever."

"We are working on filing a petition to have Black held in alternative arrangements," said Ms. Novak. "I have included the paperwork in the filing."

I had no idea what any of that meant. This event was supposedly about me, but I had only said a single word. Everything these people were saying just sounded like legal nonsense.

The woman skimmed through the folder in front of her and began to read. I had no idea what Ms. Novak was talking about—alternative arrangements—but at least it wasn't Azkaban. The witch sighed, giving Ms. Novak a level look. "I will have a look at this petition. If it fails, then Mr. Black will be held in Ministry custody here in London. The court is adjourned."

Everyone got to their feet except me. I was still chained to the chair. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do now, but I figured someone would come and collect me. Sure enough, my Auror guard appeared a second later and escorted me back into the corridor. I sat down heavily on one of the long benches, completely confused as to what had just transpired.

I heard the sound of clicking heels, and turned to see Ms. Novak coming toward me, looking a little pleased, which only confused me further.

"Well, that went quite well," she said when she reached me.

I raised an eyebrow. "What just happened?"

"That was your arraignment," Ms. Novak said. It was that word again. "It was your formal presentation of charges and your plea."

"Okay," I said slowly, rubbing my eyes tiredly. "So I'm still being charged?"

"Yes," said Ms. Novak. She almost sounded pleased by this. What on earth...? "Mr. Rochester was determined to prosecute your case last week. It seemed clear-cut enough at the time; but with all the evidence I've managed to present in the last three days, he seemed to get second thoughts. He offered a plea bargain, which I refused on your behalf. If you plead out under his conditions, it would have meant five more years on top of time served."

Five more years in prison? For what? They had Pettigrew, and I told Ms. Novak as much. She sensed my irritation, and said more seriously, "I'm taking your case to trial because I think we're going to win. Normally, in light of the circumstances, the Wizengamot would have a hearing to determine if the circumstances warranted a trial, but any case involving Death Eater activity is automatic grounds for a full trial." She paused, taking in my expression. "It doesn't feel like it, but this is a good thing. If I didn't think you had a chance, I wouldn't refuse the plea bargain. Rochester probably wouldn't have even offered it—"

"So does this mean you believe me, now?" I asked. My irritation slipped through, and my voice came out more sardonic than I had intended.

Ms. Novak sighed. "I have a few things to take care of at the office, but I'm going to stop by the hospital this evening so we can discuss proceedings."

Great. I look forward to it.

The journey back to the hospital was a haze. With the arraignment behind me and a lot of irritation on my mind, I could barely focus. It was a wonder I was able to change my clothes and get into my bed without someone forcing me. While I hadn't been restrained on the journey to and from the courtroom, I was still chained back to my bed at the hospital. This little injustice only further soured my mood.

Finally, when the Healers, Aurors and mediwitches all left me, I was left with room to stew in my own muddled thoughts. I wanted to see Remus, but I doubted whether he wanted to see me. I had no reports of any visitors at the hospital, and he wasn't in the courtroom. No one had mentioned him. I was sure Remus was fighting his own battles at the news of Peter and myself, but I almost didn't care. Remus was understanding and patient, and I wanted him to be on my side again.

But if Remus didn't believe me, then what did it matter? What did any of it matter? If I was cleared and released, so what? It wasn't like I had anywhere to go, or anyone to return to. As long as Peter didn't escape, I really didn't care what happened to me. I didn't have Remus, and I didn't have Harry, so nothing mattered.

I must have fallen into an uneasy sleep, because I suddenly jerked awake with a gasp for breath. My skin was cold and damp. I ran a shaky hand over my eyes, trying to force out the images from my dreams. For a while there, I was sure Remus had been in the courtroom, and he had accused me of being a murderer. But as my heart rate slowed and my brain reawakened, I remembered I had never seen Remus at all.

There came a knock at the door, and Ms. Novak appeared, heavy briefcase and all. She opened her mouth to speak, but seemed to change her mind over her words as she caught a glimpse of me. "Are you all right?"

"Fine," I muttered, self-conscious. I straightened up in the bed and gave her a level look. I hoped she wouldn't press me about how jacked up I must look.

She got the hint and took a seat in the usually empty chair by my bedside. She withdrew a scrap piece of parchment from one of the two dozen folders. "I've compiled our witness list, and I wanted to go over it with you. The prosecution is going to have their witnesses, too, so some of these are repeats. Let me know if you know of anyone else I should add."

I gave a non-committal half-shrug. "Okay."

"Albus Dumbledore, the Weasley family, Remus Lupin, and Alastor Moody, George Proudfoot, Auriga Savage, and John Dawlish, who were the Aurors present at your arrest," read off Ms. Novak. "We're also calling various experts to testify, which includes a lot of Ministry officials who gathered the evidence against you the first time around. Rochester is going to try to include the Muggle eye-witness testimony, but I'm fighting to have that thrown out," she added.

"What if they don't want to testify on my behalf?" I asked, thinking of Remus.

Ms. Novak shook her head. "It doesn't matter—they're legally bound. I will subpoena all of them if I have to. I've established a pretty strong case so far, but I want to go over everything again to make sure I haven't missed anything."

Great.

"Just tell me everything from the beginning," she said, withdrawing a roll of parchment and a quill. "And I'll ask questions afterwards."

It was a lot of talking. There was so much to explain, so many stupid mistakes of mine that I had to elaborate. I started from the time we were all at school and became Animagi, careful to leave Remus' condition out of the story. I had to stop several times, trying to recollect my thoughts. The more glaring points were still at the forefront of my brain, as Azkaban had forced me to relive them for ten years. It was the other stuff, the good parts, that were hard to recall.

An enchanted quill wrote down everything I said. It scribbled across the parchment so fast I almost found it distracting. When I had finished, Ms. Novak was watching me with a strange expression. It reminded me uncomfortably of Dumbledore for some reason.

"Did you ever suspect Peter?" she asked after a brief silence.

God, that question again. It was almost as bad as being back in Azkaban. "No," I said dully. "In hindsight, I should have. It's obvious now, isn't it? But I didn't see it at the time." I paused, then said, "What about Peter? What's happening to him?"

"Pettigrew?" Ms. Novak said. "He's still in Ministry custody, being investigated. As soon as we can prove your innocence, I'm going to charge him with the crimes."

There was a ringing silence. I raised an eyebrow. "So you do believe me."

Ms. Novak gave me a level look. "I never said that. It's not my job to believe or disbelieve."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "It's not like I'm going to fire you if you don't—you're the driving force keeping me out of Azkaban."

"The law is very clear about innocence until guilt is proven," she said in a very diplomatic tone. "Your guilt has never been proved, and is unlikely to be. Legally, you are innocent."

I did roll my eyes at that, completely exasperated with all this legal garbage. Who cared about pleas and arraignments? They had Peter, and with a cauldron of Veritaserum, the truth would be in their faces. Why on earth were they side-stepping and tip-toeing now? It's not like they cared about due process of law when I was chucked in prison.

"You want your name cleared, don't you?" she asked testily.

I snorted. "What does it matter? Even if I'm cleared, no one believes me anyway. And what am I going to do? Ring up my old school friends and check if my flat in London hasn't been blasted away?"

"Well, we can worry about that when we get there," she said firmly. I could tell she was annoyed with my behavior, but I didn't care. I was annoyed with her, too. "Right now let's just focus on the things at hand. Do you know how a trial works?"

"Nope, never had one."

She didn't take the bait. "The first part is the arraignment, which we did today. When the trial starts, the entire Wizengamot will be present. Mr. Rochester and myself will give our opening arguments to the court. Mr. Rochester will then present his witnesses and testimony, and then it's our turn. We're allowed to question each other's witnesses, so be prepared for Mr. Rochester cross-examining you. He's going to try to get you to slip up, because he doesn't have much of a case outside of the Muggle testimony. After that, we give our closing arguments, then the court deliberates. If you're found innocent, then that's the end of it."

"And if I'm not?"

"And if you're not," she allowed slowly. "You're given a date for a sentencing, which is usually within a few days. After the sentencing we would petition to appeal."

"So it's only if I'm found innocent that you can charge Peter."

She hesitated. "Yes, that's true. So that's why you need to take this very seriously."

I reflected on that. It was mind-numbing to be put through the ringer when everyone was so skeptical, but Hestia and Ms. Novak had both said that the Ministry was half-put to dismiss my charges. That had to mean people were coming around, didn't it?

"Back in the courtroom, you said something about alternative custody," I said slowly. I was nervous to ask what this meant, but anything had to be better than Azkaban.

"Yes," she said, nodding. "There are various options to pursue. Some people are held with no more than their word, there's house-arrest, and minimum security jail settings."

"So where am I going?"

"I'm working on that," she said confidently. "The only thing I want you to focus on is your trial. I'll take care of everything else."

I wasn't sure how much I was comforted by that. Ms. Novak seemed like a competent counselor, but I doubted even she could do much for a mad, mass murderer.

There came a knock at the door, and Hestia appeared in her usual pink robes, balancing a tray in her hands. "Knock, knock," she said, stepping inside and closing the door with her foot.

Ms. Novak stood up, collecting her things as she went. "I'll be in touch with you again tomorrow morning," she said. "I have a few more things to do for our testimony, and then I want to prepare you for examination."

"I look forward to it," I said stonily. I tried to think of something to say to Ms. Novak that sounded kinder and more appreciative, but this entire affair was so overwhelming that I couldn't focus my thoughts enough.

When she had left, Hestia approached my bed with the tray. I had been expecting another array of nutrient potions, but was stunned to see real food on the tray.

"You've been upgraded to applesauce and soup," said Hestia, balancing the tray on one arm as she reached into her pocket for her wand. She levitated the tray so that it was at the perfect height in front of me.

It was a very plain tray, consisting of little more than clear soup, a piece of plain bread, and a plastic bowl of applesauce, but to me it looked like heaven. I had been living off of Azkaban sludge for ten years, and the nutrient potions were almost as foul. This was the first time I had seen real food since I was arrested. I barely remembered to thank Hestia before I tore into it.

"Don't eat it too fast, or you'll throw it all up," warned Hestia, taking a seat comfortably in Ms. Novak's vacated chair.

"I didn't know I was being allowed to eat real food," I noted, stuffing a large piece of bread in my mouth.

"Technically you're not starting until tomorrow," said Hestia, examining her cuticles. "But I tried one of those nutrient potions on a bet this morning, and they taste disgusting. I thought I'd give you a break. Besides, you've managed to gain six pounds, so I think that warrants what I could sneak from the cafeteria."

It was a little awkward to only eat with one hand—the other was still chained to the bed—but I quickly took no notice of it. The soup wasn't my favorite—a bland version of chicken and rice—but I downed all of it. To me, it tasted like the best meal I had ever had.

Several minutes passed in silence, and Hestia got up to remove the tray when I had finished. She hesitated by the bedside, then said, "I spoke with your Healer this afternoon. He says you can be discharged as early as this weekend."

"Oh." I didn't know what to say to that.

"And then I ran into your legal aid, Ms. Novak, right before she came in here," Hestia continued. Her hands were on her hips, and she was staring at the floor. She paused, then said, "So I guess you should talk to her about preparing for wherever you're going. We've whipped up a big discharge plan for you, so make sure Novak tells us as soon as she's sure."

I had been trying not to think of that, but I suppose it had to come sooner or later. I couldn't stay in the hospital forever. I still didn't know where Ms. Novak was petitioning to put me. She said I should only worry about the trial, but it was hard to fixate on only one problem when everything was screwed up. I made a mental note to harass Ms. Novak until she told me.

* * *

><p>8:55 AM<p>

I had lain awake through most of the night in spite of the various potions the mediwitches got me to drink. My brain was out of the Azkaban fog for the first time, and I was wired. I couldn't think about anything other than escaping and going after Peter myself. I knew that wasn't likely, however, so I tried to focus on other things while I waited for morning.

Ms. Novak returned to my room that morning shortly after breakfast, which consisted of a nutrient potion and a bowl of oatmeal. At least I was being upgraded.

"The mediwitch told me I was being discharged this weekend," I said as soon as she entered. "Is that true?"

Ms. Novak hesitated, her face falling a little. The door shut softly behind her. "Yes, that's true."

I didn't miss the look on her face. "So where am I going?"

Ms. Novak set her briefcase down and took the chair next to my bed, crossing her legs. She was dressed in very professional robes and heels again. Madam Bones hasn't approved my petition yet. "It's tied up in a legal mess right now, so until it's sorted, you would be held in Ministry custody."

Of course. I have no idea why I hadn't expected it would go to shit. I wanted to swear at that, but managed to resist. "So what does that mean?"

Ms. Novak sighed heavily. "The Ministry has a limited-capacity short-term jail in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. If Madam Bones approves my petition for your remand, then you would be released and held elsewhere."

That must be what Hestia had been talking about the previous night. And Madam Bones had mentioned it during the arraignment yesterday as well—as long as I was hospitalized, I couldn't be jailed. And why was jail my only option at all? Why was I still being treated like a criminal when the proof was sitting right under their nose?

Ms. Novak read the disconcerted expression on my face, and said, "I don't want you to worry too much about that," she said firmly. "It'll be temporary, and I'm going to fight it. And it's not set in stone yet, either. You have to be released first."

What the f—

* * *

><p>7:13 PM<p>

I managed to pick up on the pattern of Hestia's schedule, and waited impatiently for her to arrive that evening. As soon as she had, I immediately cornered her on the issue of my being imprisoned before the trial. I doubted whether Hestia was being filled-in on my legal mess, but she was the only one who told me anything, and I hadn't been able to think about anything else all day.

"I talked to Ms. Novak this morning," I said when she entered with my chart, preparing to take the usual vital signs.

"Did you?" she asked idly, flipping through the pages until she found the one she wanted.

"She told me that if I was released this weekend, I would be jailed."

Hestia paused, giving me a strange look. It wasn't pity, but I couldn't quite place it. "Well, things can change before you know it," she said, taking my wrist to check my pulse.

"Well, jail seems pretty straightforward to me," I said, annoyed.

She was silent for several seconds as she counted, then said, "Well, Novak isn't the only one fighting for you. And I'll tell you what—if it really comes down to it, we can always screw up your treatment at the last minute and prevent you from being released."

I stared at her, mystified. "Why are you helping me?"

She gave me a squared look, her hands on her hips again. "Do you really think everyone has abandoned you, and left you to the wolves?"

Feels like it.

"Look," she said, sighing heavily. "I can't pretend to imagine what it must be like to be in your position right now, but people do care, and they do believe, and they are trying to help you. You probably don't see it because you're locked in here all the time, but on the outside, it's glaringly obvious. Your legal aid's law firm is one of the most reputable in the wizarding world. Dumbledore's got enough ties in the Wizengamot that he might as well have Madam Bones' job. Ninety-percent of the _Daily Prophet _is about you, and nearly all the articles say how you were wrongfully imprisoned—people you don't even know are on your side. The system has failed you, and we all see it. That's why we're helping."

I was not expecting that speech. My first instinct was to disbelieve Hestia—all I had seen were the Aurors' accusatory glares and heard nothing but how I was still being charged—but she was right. Maybe there really were people fighting for me outside and I just hadn't seen it. I was wary to believe any such thing, however. Azkaban had long taught me not to hope for something as insane as that.

"I asked Ms. Novak, and she said it's true that anyone accused of Death Eater activity is automatically tried, regardless of how asinine the accusation is," Hestia continued. "Otherwise all this would have been dropped, already. We all see it. That's why we want to help."

I really had no idea what to say to that. Hestia was saying everything a small part of me had dared to fantasize about, but I couldn't possibly believe it was real.

"So," she continued. "Don't resign yourself just yet. Things can change."

My brain was having a hard time processing everything Hestia had just said, like her words merely hit a brick wall. If strangers and the media believed me, then why didn't Remus? Or maybe he did, but he hated me anyway. Maybe he still blamed me for what happened. I blamed me.

"Is it so impossible to believe that anyone wants to help you?" she asked after a long silence.

"A little bit," I allowed. I was in prison for ten years and I doubted anyone lost sleep over it until Peter showed up.

"Well, stop being such a prat," said Hestia. That surprised me. Were mediwitches allowed to speak to patients like that?

"Only the ones who are being gits," answered Hestia. "Now get up, because it's shower night."

Oh, right. I still needed a babysitter for everything I did. At least they didn't follow me into the loo.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter five:

11:39 AM

Hestia had left her copy of _Witch Weekly _behind, and I was re-reading an article about hair potions for the third time. There wasn't a lot to do after being in the hospital for three weeks, and so I had to settle on what I could find.

By the time I had moved on to the latest trend in housekeeping charms, there came a knock at the door and a moment later, Dumbledore was standing in my doorway.

"There is an exceptional article on enchanted fall-themed sweets. The recipes for pumpkin pastries seems particularly good."

I couldn't tell if Dumbledore was being facetious. I closed the magazine and examined the cover. I knew the article, because I had read it myself. On the right-hand corner, there was a picture of a toothy witch holding a tray of the aforementioned baked goods. I don't know how I felt about Dumbledore reading _Witch Weekly, _but somehow it didn't surprise me.

I set the magazine down on the bedside table and turned to face Dumbledore squarely. He had taken a seat in the chair at my bedside.

"Please do not allow me to interrupt," said Dumbledore. "I would be happy to wait until you have finished reading."

Reading _Witch Weekly_?

"What are you here for?" I asked, unable to summon the energy for pleasantries. I know I sounded a little rude, but I didn't care. I was still in the hospital and chained to a bed, after all. I had a right to my irritation.

"To indulge my nagging curiosity, and to check on how you were doing," was Dumbledore's reply.

I felt my eyebrows rise. _Now _he was interested? I had been here three sodding weeks. "Well, I don't rightly know," I said heatedly. "Everyone seems determined to handle my affairs for me, but they won't tell me what's going on."

"I must interrupt you for a moment," said Dumbledore, holding up a hand. It was exactly as if I was a misbehaving student all over again. "And then you may continue to place all of your anger on me. It is me, you see, who has been meddling in your affairs." Dumbledore gave a sigh, suddenly looking tired and much, much older. "When you were arrested, I had a suspicion that we were not getting the whole picture. I will not say that I imagined you and Peter had switched, but I did entertain the suspicion that you were perhaps forced into giving up the information of Lily and James' whereabouts. I chose, however, not to act on these suspicions," he continued, his voice heavy. "I have a great many contacts and favors in my pockets, and a talent for pulling strings—"

"I'm not blaming you for what happened to me," I interrupted. "It looked bad—even I know that. The fault is with myself and Peter, not any of you—"

"You are very kind," said Dumbledore sadly. "And please do not think that I mean to suggest you are accusing me. I merely want to explain myself so that I can earn your full irritation." He paused for a moment, then continued in the same heavy voice, "As I said, I had it within my power to investigate your alleged crimes, and I did not. When Peter Pettigrew showed up several weeks ago, I was determined not to repeat that mistake. I pulled you from Azkaban as soon as I could. Andras Ramiro has been a longtime friend of mine, and agreed to defend your case upon my word. I also happen to have significant influence over the Wizengamot, which I intend to use to my full advantage."

It took a moment for my brain to process all of that. Dumbledore must have seen something in my expression, because then he said, "I shall start with the most pressing events first, shall I?

"Kingsley Shacklebolt, an Auror with top marks and a favorite of the Minister's, has conveniently rented a cottage home that I suggested to him one afternoon when we were discussing vacation getaways. The home is in –shire, half a kilometer from your old friend, Remus Lupin, who also happens to have volunteered himself to be your custodian. Due to this lucky coincidence, the Wizengamot approved Ms. Novak's petition for house arrest."

That was shocking. Never mind the house arrest part—I didn't know what stunned me more: Remus agreeing to be my babysitter, or the fact that the Ministry approved it. I wondered if they knew he was a werewolf.

"Remus will come collect you tomorrow afternoon," Dumbledore continued, ignoring the dumfounded expression that was no doubt on my face. "As for your trial, I am sure that Ms. Novak has kept you updated. As I said, I have a rather large amount of influence over the Wizengamot.

"Finally, as you are doubtlessly wanting to know, Peter Pettigrew remains in Ministry custody. He is going to be subpoenaed into giving testimony. He is currently being held on charges of being an illegal Animagus and fleeing the scene of a crime—a small comfort in light of the bigger picture, but it gives the Ministry reason to keep him. I have no doubt that as soon as you are cleared, Pettigrew will be charged."

It was a strange thing to process this information, because instead of diffusing my anger, it actually increased it. "Why didn't anyone tell me? I've been locked in here for three weeks with no idea if I was getting out or being chucked back into Azkaban."

Dumbledore gave me another one of his looks, one with a hint of pity mixed in the patronizing expression. Awesome. "There are two reasons, both of which are my doing as well," he said. "First, I was rather busy stepping on as many toes as possible. Second, I had hoped to prevent you from worrying unnecessarily. I did not want to suggest I could place you in Remus' care if he did not agree, or if the Ministry rejected it. Forgive me—I didn't want to disappoint you so early on."

Well, damn. Now I almost felt guilty for being angry. I supposed that was a perfectly good reason—of course he would be busy if he was trying to keep my arse out of Azkaban—but it made me feel like such a child. Like I had misbehaved and Dumbledore was swooping in to fix the mess before bedtime.

"Can I see Remus?" I asked after a long silence.

"He's engaged at the Ministry for the next several hours, preparing for your detainment," said Dumbledore. "I daresay he will not have the time until tomorrow, in which he is picking you up anyway."

I sighed, trying not to think about the tightness that had formed in my chest at that. I wanted to ask Dumbledore if Remus was mad at me, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I was tired of verbally admitting I was a fuck-up.

"I can only imagine how difficult this must be," said Dumbledore after a while, bringing me out of my brooding. "And I am sure you know that there are still many obstacles to climb. But no matter how difficult or hopeless it seems, know this—you have friends who care very much about you. With that kind of friendship, I believe that you can get through anything."

Yeah, friendship. I lost Peter, messed up with Remus, and killed Lily and James.

I didn't want to think about them. It hurt to think about them.

"Knock, knock."

I looked up to se Hestia in the doorway.

"Well, I suppose I should take that as my cue to leave you," said Dumbledore, getting to his feet. "I daresay there is quite the amount of discharge work to be done. I will be in touch with you soon, Sirius."

I couldn't get my vocal cords to work right, so I gave this sort of half-shrug and half-nod in response to Dumbledore.

"I brought you some real food," Hestia said when Dumbledore left. She held out the container she had been carrying. I straightened up slowly—as I gradually became more aware of my own body, I noticed my joints often ached—and took the container she handed me. Inside was the most delicious-looking stew I had ever seen.

"Did you make this?" I asked, lifting the container a few inches.

Hestia's already-pink cheeks reddened further. Was she embarrassed? She shouldn't be, because the food was amazing. I'm sure even if I wasn't starved I would have found it marvelous.

"So there's going to be a load of paperwork to finish before tomorrow morning," she said. "Some of it you have to fill out, some of it Lupin has to. The Ministry is also coming by tomorrow, because they have stuff, too."

"Oh. Okay." It was a dumb response, but I really didn't know what else to say. I was still used to people talking _at _me, not _to _me.

Hestia talked with a noncommittal tone while I ate, telling me a few stories about patients she had seen in the past. I didn't interrupt her, enjoying the brief relief from my own disastrous life. Finally, when I had finished, she took my bowl and traded me with a thick stack of papers.

"There's a self-inking quill in there. Just follow the instructions. I'll come back in a few hours for rounds, but you'll probably be asleep. Just leave them on the nightstand or something, and I'll pick them up."

I looked at the first slip of paper, which was an enormous sheet of parchment detailing a medical history. It listed off diseases and conditions I had never heard of, and there were little check boxes next to each one.

"Aren't I supposed to fill this out in the beginning, not the end?" I asked, holding it up.

"Normally, yeah," she said. "But you weren't in good condition when you came, so we just went off of our old records we had on file. Just fill it out to the best of your knowledge."

When she left, I looked through the rest of the folder. There were questionnaires about side-effects from the potions I had been taking, about my sleeping habits, and my general mood and sense of well-being. There were forms about liability, about the risk of contracting Dragon Pox in a hospital setting, and quizzes about potion allergies. Near the back were legal forms, including promissory notes to take my potions as instructed, and page after page of medical and legal jargon.

Ugh.

* * *

><p>9: 25 AM<p>

I didn't sleep at all that night. I couldn't get comfortable, and I couldn't shut my brain off in spite of the two sleeping draughts the Healer gave me. All I could think about was Remus. If I was honest with myself, I was more terrified of seeing Remus than I was of returning to prison. I would lock myself up in a cell if it meant Remus couldn't look at me with that disgusted, accusatory glare I had always imagined for the last ten years.

Just as Hestia had warned, there was a lot of paperwork and a lot of interaction with the Ministry. Most of it went over my head and I was ignored; it seemed the most important stuff was between the hospital and the Ministry.

I was unchained from the bed, and Hestia brought me a change of clothes from the Lost and Found trunk. She must have taken her time going through them, because the clothes she selected nearly fit, even if I looked like my grandfather in them. I was given a packaged pumpkin pasty that was probably picked up from the cafeteria as breakfast, and then forgotten again. Eventually everyone left my room, and I was left to sit in agonizing anticipation.

I sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, trying to ignore the desperate pounding of my heart. My anxiety made me feel light-headed, and I figured passing out on the floor couldn't possibly help matters. I suppose I shouldn't have been too nervous; it wasn't like I was being forced to return to Azkaban, after all.

The door to my room opened, and my heart stopped.

"Are you just about ready to go?" Remus asked.

I knew to expect him, but for some reason I was still surprised. Maybe a small part of me had expected Remus wouldn't show up, or that it was all some kind of joke. Either way, I couldn't gain enough control over myself to act normally.

Before I had to, however, the door opened again behind Remus and my Healer appeared, followed by Hestia and numerous Ministry officials whose faces I recognized but didn't know the names to.

"These are your discharge instructions," said the Healer. He was talking to me, but he handed the thick roll of parchment to Remus. "Follow them very carefully. These—" he added, beckoning to Hestia, who carried a tray laden with bottles. "—are your potions. The instructions are in the discharge papers."

Without another word, the Healer left. I didn't have time to marvel at his rudeness, because then Hestia stepped forward and said, "They're all labeled, so you shouldn't have too much trouble with them. We have a Sleeping Solution, some Pepper-Up Potion to perk you up, and your favorite—nutritional potions." She conjured up a bag and threw all the bottles inside. She turned to Remus, then added, "Make sure he takes them, or he'll wind up in here again. Once the bottles are empty, it's your choice if you want refills on them. The apothecary in Diagon Alley carries them for a good price." She checked her watch, then said, "I have to get going, but do you have any questions?"

"No, I'm sure it'll be fine," said Remus kindly to her.

"All right—well, you can always owl the hospital if something changes."

Hestia and I made brief eye contact, and I wanted to say something to thank her for how kind she had been to me. Before I could open my mouth, however, the Aurors stepped forward and Hestia was blocked from my view.

"We'll go over the security plan in more depth once we get there, but I want to make sure you understand the conditions of your house-arrest," said one of the Aurors. I think his name was something like Dawlish. John Dawlish. He was going to testify at my trial. He seemed nice enough, but he was kind of stuffy and too official. "You are not to leave the boundaries for any reason other than pre-determined Ministry proceedings or trips to the hospital. You are not to have a wand, practice magic, or perform any magical tasks." Well, that sucks. My brain went straight to my dog transformation. I had told the Ministry I was an Animagus, but I wondered how closely they would be able to track that. "If you leave the premises, an Auror guard will be there to escort you at all times. If you try to leave, we'll come in. If you break the terms of house-arrest at any time, it's back to Ministry custody. Does that make sense?"

Of course it did. Azkaban put me in a fog; it didn't give me irreparable brain damage.

"All right," said Dawlish, looking to the two other Aurors present. "Let's sign the discharge papers, and head out. Meet us at the mediwitch station as soon as you've collected your things."

What things? I was wearing charity clothes and Remus had all my official hospital rubbish. I didn't own anything to leave behind.

The Aurors stepped out, leaving Remus and I alone again.

"Sirius?"

I opened my mouth to speak, but I couldn't make myself say anything. What should I say? I'm sorry? It wasn't my fault? Please forgive me? Somehow, none of those sounded right. I was afraid if I said any of it, Remus would walk away, just as he had always done in my dreams. I needed him to stay, to understand…

Remus sighed. He placed his hands on his hips and stared at his feet for a long moment, then said heavily, "There's a muggle taxi waiting for us outside. The Ministry doesn't want to run the risk of allowing magical transportation. We should probably get going."

All I could focus on was the fact that Remus wasn't looking at me as he spoke. Fear filled my heart, and I wondered if perhaps he had been forced into this. Without really being aware of it, I managed to get to my feet without falling. Remus was still carrying my bag of minimal belongings and held the door open for me.

As expected, there was my usual Auror guard to escort us through the hospital. It wasn't Dawlish this time; I don't know where he went, but I had two Aurors I had never seen before escorting us. In spite of the hour, there were still plenty of spectators. I felt self-conscious under their stares, and tried to make myself as invisible as possible. That, of course, was easier said than done when you were once considered Voldemort's second-in-command. For three weeks, my face had been all over the papers. I never stood a chance to be overlooked.

The walk out of the hospital seemed to take ages. The lifts seemed to never arrive, the hallways incredibly long, and the floors endless. Finally, after what seemed like much too long, we were outside. We exited through a doorway that—on the outside—appeared to be little more than a side-exit of a muggle warehouse. The Aurors waited by the door, one of whom withdrew a pack of cigarettes from his coat. Feeling their stares on the back of my head, I followed Remus to the street, where a distinct yellow taxi was waiting.

When we got inside, there was an Auror that I vaguely recognized as Kingsley Shacklebolt already inside. Didn't Dumbledore say he was my official Ministry-appointed babysitter or something? He merely nodded to us when we got in the cab, and returned to the puzzle he had been working on.

We drove in complete silence. The muggle taxi driver appeared to know where we were headed already, and so I seemed to be the only one in the dark about it. I doubted whether Remus was still living in his tiny flat in Diagon Alley that he had rented out after graduating. I didn't want to ask, however, because Remus still hadn't said a word since we left my hospital room. Instead, I tried to occupy myself with the scenery flashing past. I should have been absorbed by it—it was the first time in ten years I had seen anything other than my cell—but my thoughts were preoccupied.

I must have fallen asleep during the drive, because I suddenly jerked awake and realized the car had come to a stop. The shape beneath me moved a little, and I realized with extreme embarrassment that I had fallen asleep on Remus. I quickly sat up, rubbing sleep from my eyes. Remus must have been repulsed to have me so close, but he was too nice to wake me up and push me away. I wanted to disappear, but instead settled for opening my car door and stepping outside. Well, it was better Remus than the Auror.

We were definitely in the middle of nowhere. We were parked outside a small cottage, and it appeared to be the only house around for miles. Wasn't Kingsley supposed to have a place nearby?

Remus beckoned for me to follow him as the taxi backed out of the narrow drive. In silence, I followed him the rest of the way up the gravel drive and toward the small house, with Shacklebolt right behind me. One side was completely obscured by poplar trees, and the lawn was wildly overgrown. There were a few tiles missing from the roof, and the shutters seemed to be hanging on their last nail over the windows. The vegetable garden, however, was immaculately-kept, and provided a stark contrast to the general run-down appearance of the rest of the property.

The stone steps leading to the door were worn and mossy, and I noticed Remus had to put a bit of force into opening the front door. He stepped back to let me enter, still silent, and hung up his jacket on the rack nearby.

I hardly knew what to do with myself, so I hovered in the entryway until Remus gave me some kind of direction.

"The bedroom upstairs is yours," he said, waving his hand absently at the lamps. The oil erupted into flame, casting a steady yellow glow around the house. "There's only one bathroom, and that's across the hall from you," he continued, leading me deeper into the cottage. "The linen closet is right by it, and there are fresh towels in there, though they might be a little doxy-chewed. The kitchen's back here, and you're welcome to help yourself to anything. Are you hungry?"

I unstuck my throat. "No, I'm fine... Thanks," I added. When did I become so awkward around Remus? Remus, with whom I had shared a dorm for seven years.

"Tea?"

I hesitated. "Uh, sure."

"Kingsley?"

"Yes, thank you."

I followed Remus to the kitchen. While he busied himself at the stove, I took a seat at the old dining table squeezed into the corner. Kingsley sat down at the head of the table, folding his hands in front of him comfortably. Remus didn't seem the least bit conscious of Shacklebolt here, and it made me wonder if they knew each other.

"I don't know how much Dumbledore has told you," said Kingsley, turning to me. "But—as you know—you'll remain here until the investigation is over."

"I thought it was a trial."

Kingsley shrugged, a slight grimace on his face. "It's not a trial in the true sense of the word. Ministry justice has changed considerably when it comes to wizarding terrorism."

I didn't know what to say to that, so I remained silent. So not only was I a murderer, but I was also a terrorist. It just kept getting better.

"The boundaries are going to be magically sealed as soon as I leave," Kingsley continued. "They go from the line of poplar trees outside to the creek in the back, and from the well in the front to the clothesline," said Kingsley, gesturing to his left. "But if anyone should ask, it's strictly the walls of this house."

Well, at least I could get outside, even if it wasn't far.

"I will be checking in twice a day on schedule, and may occasionally come by unannounced to verify that you're keeping to the conditions," said Kingsley. He paused, then reached into his pocket and withdrew what looked like a bulky leather watch. "In spite of the boundaries and my supervision, the Ministry wanted a little more security," he added, holding the band open toward me.

I hesitated. Was I supposed to put my hand in that? And what would happen if I did?

"It wears like a muggle wristwatch," said Kingsley. "It doesn't hurt."

Grudgingly, I held out my arm. Kingsley buckled the thick strap around my wrist, making sure it was snug but not too tight. Within seconds, the buckle disappeared, leaving no way to take the thing off. It wasn't very heavy, but it suddenly felt like I was in shackles all over again.

"It senses when you attempt to cross the established boundaries or perform magic," said Kingsley in his slow, steady voice. "It also prevents any attempt from apparating or using the Floo Network."

"What happens if I do all those things?" I asked dully, examining the strap with a dark expression.

"It will send a burst of magic straight through you, rendering you unconscious immediately. It also notifies the Ministry, and provides a signal of your location. It's tamper-proof, so it's impossible to destroy without blasting off your entire wand arm."

There was just no end to being a supposed criminal. I felt like a caged animal all over again.

Remus came to the table then, setting a mug of tea in front of me, prepared—I noticed—exactly how I had taken it when we were in school. I opened my mouth to thank him, but instead I blurted out, "I'm sorry you have to do this, Remus. I'm sure you were too nice to say no, and I…just want you to know that I really do appreciate it. A lot."

The look Remus gave me stopped my rambling dead in its tracks. It was one of mingled surprise and disgust. I wasn't necessarily taken aback that he was looking at me like that, but it didn't stop the awful sinking feeling in my chest.

Remus sighed, still standing near the table. Then, wordlessly, he picked up the other two cups of tea from the counter and returned to the table, settling himself directly across from me. "Don't apologize. And don't feel like I'm doing you any kind of service, or that it's because I pity you," he said in a clear, low voice. He paused, then continued, "For ten years, I have been the biggest prat on the planet."

That stunned me. Remus had never said anything like that in my nightmares.

"The thing is, I always suspected something was amiss…but I didn't do anything about it," he continued. "I think that's worse, don't you?"

"Remus—"

"And you're not talking me out of it, either," Remus interrupted, guessing my thoughts exactly. "I want to do this. I want you to forgive me."

There was a pregnant silence at that. I stared, completely dumb-founded, at Remus, who silently sipped his tea and looked at me straight-on. My brain was sagging under the weight of what he had just said. A million thoughts were racing through my brain, all with the aim of telling Remus he had no need to be forgiven. But the thoughts were jumbled up, and all I could do was stare like an idiot.

"Perhaps it might help to explain everything that has been going on," said Kinsgley, breaking the silence. "Behind the scenes, that is."

"Right," said Remus, setting his cup down. "We've been working quite a bit, so I apologize if our explanations jump back and forth. Er, well, I guess you should know that the Ministry is extremely wary of admitting they were wrong."

I rolled my eyes at that.

"Back during the war, everyone was happy to lock up Death Eaters," said Kingsley slowly. "But things have changed in the last ten years, and people are focusing on progressive justice. This puts the Ministry in an awkward position—most of its officials were appointed in wartime when the wizarding community thirsted for blood. So it's very split—half want to follow the books and pursue real justice, and the other half says that it doesn't matter."

"Mostly what's going on is the Ministry is fighting with itself over what to do about you and Peter," Remus added. "It keeps going back and forth between a full trial and an investigation—that's one of the complaints in the _Prophet, _that the Ministry can't even put a name to what they're doing. It's almost turned into a case of self-preservation; if they admit they were wrong, they risk being voted out."

"Oh, well, Merlin forbid that ever happened," I said sardonically.

"I didn't say it was right, just that it's what they're all thinking," said Remus placatingly. "So while all this is going on, the rest of us have been doing everything we can to put pressure on them. Dumbledore has the Wizengamot, Kingsley here is admired by the Auror department, and Andras Ramiro's law group is the best in the wizarding world. This is all food for the media, of course, so we've—er—been helping that along a bit," added Remus, glancing at Kingsley. "You know, to put the information out there, and to put pressure on the Ministry."

I had nearly forgotten my tea was there. I took a sip, trying to sort my thoughts, then said, "So my trial or whatever isn't even about me anymore."

"No."

"It's a political stunt."

Remus hesitated. "Kind of," he said slowly. Leave it to Remus to always be just a little forgiving of everyone.

There was a strange tapping sound on the roof. I looked around, but neither Remus nor Kingsley seemed to notice it. I looked out the window, and sat that it was covered in water droplets. It was raining. I hadn't heard that sound in ten years.

"Here," said Remus, getting to his feet. He rummaged through a wicker basket by the fireplace in the tiny sitting room and returned with an old, folded newspaper. He handed it to me, and I took it slowly, unsure of what I was going to find.

It was me. Everywhere. Every single page had a mention of me. There were articles about my arrest, my upcoming trial, and all of it sounded angry. There were photographs, too, ones I didn't even remember being taken.

"Read the one on the second page," said Remus, sitting back down heavily at the table.

**Ministry Mayhem: Bungling the Black Case**

_London, England- Sirius Black, the 31-year-old wizard accused of murder and Death Eater activity, has been removed from Azkaban to submit to an investigation launched August 2__nd__ by the Ministry of Magic._

_The Ministry has given an official statement today, verifying that Peter Pettigrew—presumed dead after the infamous 1981 attack in Front Street in London—has been discovered alive. _

"_Peter Pettigrew is in fact alive," said Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, in an official statement released this morning. "While we cannot divulge the details at this time, we are launching a full investigation into the matter. We cannot say with certainty what happened between October 31__st__ and November 1__st__ until our investigation is complete."_

_Sirius Black was arrested ten years ago for the murder of twelve muggles and one wizard, Peter Pettigrew. He was long considered the second-in-command to the Dark wizard, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named._

"Keep reading," said Remus encouragingly, seeing the expression on my face. I took a deep breath, sighing, and continued on.

_While the Ministry has not confirmed it, various rumors are circulating, claiming Pettigrew was in hiding with a wizarding family. Other sources indicate Pettigrew was an unregistered Animagus and used his animal form as a disguise. Owls to the Ministry regarding confirmation of this matter were not immediately returned._

_An official close to the case, who agreed to speak under condition of anonymity, reported that Pettigrew's sudden reappearance is cause for concern. "When we came in, he was very nervous and skittish. He kept claiming he had remained in hiding out of fear of Black, and was insistent that Black would try to locate him if he knew he [Pettigrew] was alive." Additionally, when asked about Pettigrew's condition, the official went on to say, "Pettigrew was in perfect health, outside of missing a finger on his hand, which appeared to have been cut off at the base." _

_In the explosion in London, a severed finger as all that was discovered of Pettigrew at the scene._

"What am I looking for?" I asked, frowning. It seemed to just be a regurgitation of information, and I couldn't figure out why Remus was showing it to me.

"Here," said Remus, moving around the table so he could see the paper. He pointed to a section near the end of the article. "Read that."

"_At this point, it is irrelevant if Black is guilty or innocent," said Bob Ogden, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement Patrol. "The facts remain clear: Black was arrested and imprisoned without trial or investigation. The evidence used to suspect—and I say suspect, because one cannot be convicted without due process of law—was mishandled and poorly documented. Black was imprisoned based largely on hearsay and eyewitness testimony with no opportunity to defend himself. While Black certainly remains a suspect, he is still innocent until proven otherwise."_

_Rufus Scrimgeour, newly-appointed Head of the Auror office, had a different opinion. _

"_We had approximately thirty-two witnesses claim they saw Black cause the explosion that killed Pettigrew and twelve muggles. Various wizards close to the Potters and Black have given evidence against him. In a time of warfare and Death Eater terrorism, there is no time to launch trials and follow legal technicalities—not when the evidence is so abundantly clear and lives are at stake."_

_Regardless of Ministry opinions, Madam Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and a member of the Wizengamot, has made it clear she intends to follow the books on this case._

"_Clearly there's a lot of information we're not getting right now," she said from her Ministry office. "If a wizard who is supposedly dead can appear one day, then there could very well be vital details we're missing in this case. I have every intention of treading carefully, making sure that the truth is our end result."_

_Pettigrew and Black are both being held in undisclosed locations, though it is suspected that Black has or currently is receiving medical treatment at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries._

That was the end of the article.

"Who is Rufus Scrimgeour?" was all I could think to say.

"He's the Head of the Auror Department," said Kinsgley. "He's one of those officials I mentioned earlier, who was elected in war-time because of his staunch anti-Death Eater view. He has strong opinions on your case, but no real power over it."

"He's the Head, and he doesn't think there's anything wrong with throwing every single person into prison who _might _be a suspect?" I said heatedly.

"The point is, there are a lot more people on your side than there are people against you," said Remus earnestly. He took the paper from me, as though getting it out of my sight would diffuse my irritation.

There were still a lot of questions, and a lot of things I didn't understand, but my brain was too fuzzy. "So how did you manage to get approval for—er, all this?" I asked, looking at Remus. I really wanted to ask him if he forgave me, but I couldn't bring myself to say the words.

"Dumbledore pulled a lot of favors," said Remus. "The Ministry doesn't know I'm a werewolf, so we've been very careful to keep that out of conversation. They were still hesitant to allow it, but the next house over was for sale, so Dumbledore rented it out and Kingsley here agreed to stay there for a while. The Ministry was here all last night, making sure everything was sound."

I felt a little awkward at this information. It seemed Dumbledore was working to help me left and right. While I knew it was certainly in my favor to let him, it still made me feel like a misbehaving student all over again.

Kingsley checked his watch. "I should head back. I'm supposed to report that we got here without incident. Do you have any questions before I go?"

I realized Kingsley was directing this last piece at me. "No," I said. "I think I'm caught up for the most part."

"I'll be by again tomorrow," he said, standing up. He nodded to myself and Remus, then disapparated.

I looked down at the strap around my wrist with a dark expression. I had the wild urge to try to rip it off—I almost didn't care if it took my arm with it—but I placed my hands in my lap where they were out of sight.

It had grown dark while we were talking—or rather, while Remus and Kingsley were explaining things to me. I looked back at Remus nervously, and saw that he had collected the tea mugs and was washing them out in the sink. I tried to think of something to say, but nothing came to mind. I had no idea how to make small talk anymore.

"You should take a shower and go to bed," said Remus, shutting off the rusty faucet. "It's been a long day. I'm sure you're tired."

"Where did you say the bathroom was?" I asked after a minute of silence.

"Upstairs, on the left. Your room's right across from it."

"Right."

I hesitated, but Remus didn't see. He was busying himself with organizing his kitchen and wasn't looking at me. I got to my feet awkwardly and stepped into the hallway. The narrow staircase creaked with every step I took, and the second floor landing wasn't any better. I found the bathroom, and noticed there was already a stack of fresh towels sitting in the sink.

I shut the door and turned on the tap, letting it run for several minutes before I looked at myself in the mirror. I hadn't seen my own reflection yet, but I knew it must be awful. And I was right. I looked like the living dead. My skin was pale and thin, making the deep shadows on my bony face look even worse. My eyes were dull and lightless. Even my hair, despite being cut and clean, looked awful.

I sighed, frowning. So this is what had become of me. I didn't even recognize myself.

I stepped into the shower, reveling in the hot water beating down my back. Remus' tap was touchy and dribbled more than it sprayed, but I barely noticed. I stood there forever.

I may have still been a prisoner, but as I climbed into the creaky bed an hour later, I felt normal for the first time in ten years.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter six:

Two things happened last night that made me consider throwing myself into the English Channel.

First, I had nightmares. I had forgotten to take the potions from the hospital before crawling into bed. I hadn't dreamt that vividly since I was in Azkaban, and it threw me into a sort of strangled shock. There were images of James and Lily lying dead in their half-destroyed house, with a crowd of people accusing me, blaming me, with Remus at the front.

Second—and I'm not sure I can ever live the embarrassment down—Remus found me. I don't know how I reacted to being woken up, but I remember sitting in the tiny kitchen fifteen minutes later and being told a hundred times to drink the hot chocolate in front of me. It was kind of foggy, but I had the suspicion that I might have made a fool of myself because I definitely remember Remus hugging me at one point. So much for not embarrassing myself in front of him.

At least I didn't start crying. I think.

Remus was pacing in front of me while I sat at the table with the crooked legs, watching the steam rise from my drink. Neither of us had spoken in several minutes. My brain was starting to clear, and I wanted to die of shame at what had just transpired. Finally, Remus turned to face me squarely, but he still hadn't spoken. I noticed he was in his day clothes, and I vaguely wondered what time it was. I took a sip of my hot chocolate to give myself something to do.

"Are you mad at me?"

I accidentally sipped too much at that and could feel the hot liquid burning my tongue. I quickly set the mug back down, my hand going to my mouth. "What?" I choked out.

"Are you—" Remus stopped himself, shaking his head. "That sounds childish. What I mean is…" He broke off again, clearly struggling to find the rights words. "Are you angry with me? For…everything."

I stared at him, dumbfounded. My brain was still recovering from that horrible sleep, and Remus was asking what?

"Don't get me wrong," Remus continued quickly. He was pacing nervously. "You _should _be angry. That's not what I'm saying. I guess I just…I don't know." Remus was talking himself into an even more agitated state. He had a habit of doing this when he was nervous.

"Remus, I'm not mad," I said slowly without being aware of it.

We stared at each other so long it almost felt like a contest.

"Why?" he finally managed to say. He sounded exasperated. "Why?"

Now I really didn't know what to say. Umm, because I'm not?

"I believed every awful thing about you," said Remus heatedly. His voice had a note of accusation in it, but I wasn't sure if it was directed at me or himself. "I let them take you to Azkaban, I didn't question any of it—and you're _not mad _at me?" He stared at me, as though trying to find answers in my bewildered expression. "But you've barely said a word to me. You hardly even look at me."

I really had no idea what to say. All my social cues were gone. I knew I was supposed to interrupt him at this point, but I didn't know how.

"I'm sorry, that's presumptuous," said Remus quickly, overriding himself. He started pacing again. "I could have just asked, in fact I _should _have just asked. I guess I just thought…" He shook his head, looking out the window. "I don't know."

"Remus. _Moony,_" I added sharply when he still didn't look at me.

He sighed. "It's just…I'm really happy to have you here. I can't explain what it means to me to have you back. But…" he hesitated again, looking more nervous than ever. I had never seen Remus this awkward before. Had he really changed that much? Or maybe he had always had this habit, and I just couldn't remember. "I want to apologize. I know it doesn't change anything you went through, and especially not the fact that I left you in Azkaban. But I want you to know I'm sorry, Padfoot."

Padfoot. No one had called me that in ten years.

"And I don't blame you for anything that happened, either," he continued, softer this time. "It wasn't your fault."

Wow, now that sounded like déjà vu.

I frowned. He was basically refuting everything my dream version of him always said. Wait—

"Was I talking in my sleep?" I asked, sure I didn't want to know the answer.

"Yes," said Remus slowly. I could tell he was thinking the same thing I was thinking. It wasn't _talking _so much as screaming bloody murder.

I disappeared behind my hands, wishing I could disappear on the spot. As if I wasn't embarrassed enough…

I could hear Remus quickly taking the seat across from me. "Hey—come on," he said encouragingly. "It's not a big deal."

"Says the one who hasn't made a complete arse of himself in one night," I countered, straightening up.

"Sirius, we've known each other since we were eleven," said Remus placatingly. "I don't think that's possible anymore." He paused, then added more seriously, "Dream or no dream, I just wanted you to know. Now, while you're up again, I want you to eat something. It's not much, but I made some soup."

Remus pointed his wand at the pot on the stove, which gently poured a hot, yellow liquid into two bowls. A wave of the wand later, there was a heaping bowl of soup and a dented spoon in front of me.

We ate in silence. I remembered to drug myself up this time, and crawled back into bed. It still wasn't late—only 9 pm—but I felt like I had been up for days.

So now—this morning—I was back in Remus' tiny kitchen waiting awkwardly while he cooked breakfast. We hadn't said anything about my impressive display from the previous night, but I could tell Remus was still thinking about it. He tended to dwell on things that bothered other people, and practically carried their burdens for them. He was selfless like that.

While he worked, I tried to busy myself with the daily crossword puzzle in the newspaper. It was a Thursday, so the puzzle was a little more challenging. I used to be able to whip out answers in minutes, but my brain wasn't as fast anymore.

"I'm stopping into town this afternoon," said Remus, setting a plate and mug of tea down in front of me. "Will you be okay alone for a few hours?"

I raised an eyebrow. "I dunno, I might start experimenting with illegal potions or burn your house down. Throw a party."

"Shut up, I was just asking."

"I'll be fine, Remus," I assured him, buttering a piece of toast.

"I'm also going to run by the market while I'm out. Is there anything in particular you want?" he continued, sitting down across from me.

I frowned. "What, like food?" I had eaten nothing but Azkaban sludge and stale bread for a decade. Anything sounded delicious in comparison to that. "Er, not really. Just get whatever you normally do."

We went back into that awkward silence.

That's exactly how the next week passed. We adopted this routine where Remus cooked breakfast each morning—I was always groggy from the potions and couldn't manage a stove without setting myself on fire—and I prepared dinner. In between times, Remus was typically in and out of the house. Sometimes he never told me where he was going, and I didn't ask, though I was curious. I settled for occupying nearly all of my time with reading or sleep. Every once in a while I would go outside, but it felt strange to stand out there knowing I couldn't go more than fifteen feet from the house.

During this time, the weather began to deteriorate in spite of the season. It was almost always raining each morning, and the gloom matched my mood perfectly. Remus had taken to making tea nearly every hour, convinced the warmth would cheer me up. Unless he put a Cheering Charm on the mug, I didn't think that would be possible. I didn't tell Remus that, of course.

I stood by the window in the sitting room, sipping my third cup of tea. Outside, I could see a muggle car parked at the end of the drive. They had been sitting there for the last hour. That was strange.

I heard Remus enter the room.

"There's someone at the foot of your driveway," I said.

Remus moved toward the window. "What? Oh—yeah, that's a Ministry car."

I raised an eyebrow. "What are they doing here?"

"Security," said Remus, moving away from the window and adding a stack of old _Daily Prophets _to the kindling pile by the fireplace. "They come by every now and then to make sure everything's fine."

Through the glass, I could see the shape of two people in the front seats of the car, one smoking and one reading the paper.

I sighed inwardly, taking another sip of tea. "All right."

* * *

><p>It was halfway through the second week when I heard news about my trial from anyone. Knowing I couldn't leave the house, Ms. Novak sent an owl notifying me that she intended to stop by that afternoon.<p>

"I was beginning to wonder when they would contact you. The trial is in two weeks," said Remus, reading the note over my shoulder.

I had been trying very hard not to think of the upcoming trial, but that was pretty much impossible, especially now.

I spent the rest of the day in agitation, unable to focus on anything I tried to do. Finally, shortly after a late lunch, the doorbell rang and Remus and I both jumped.

"I'll get it," said Remus, getting to his feet quickly.

I stayed where I was at the kitchen table, dreading the inevitable legal preparations.

"Sorry I'm late," said Ms. Novak as Remus led her into the kitchen a moment later. "I meant to come earlier."

"No, no, it's not a problem," said Remus politely. "Tea? I'm just starting a pot."

"Er—yes, thank you," said Ms. Novak, sounding a little distracted. She was dressed in regular street clothes, and I found it completely bizarre. I was so used to seeing her in nothing but expensive robes and high heels. She set her briefcase down and took a seat on my corner. "How're you holding up?"

"I'm okay," I said. I didn't know if I was lying to her or not.

She took a deep breath, then said, "So I'm going to meet you at the Ministry on the twenty-fourth, at eight-thirty. The opening arguments will start at nine. For the first several days, you won't have to do anything except show up. Rochester hasn't called you as a witness, so you won't have to testify until the end."

I tried to fight the rising panic in my chest. "How long will it all take?"

"It varies," she said. "But it'll probably be a week or two until we give our case—the prosecution goes first, and they have to get through all of their testimony. It really just depends how much they have. As for our side, I'd say about two weeks."

"A month of this?" I asked, rubbing my temples. A headache was already forming behind my eyes.

"Longer is possible," warned Ms. Novak. "Now," she continued, changing directions and sounding official again. "I've finished all the preparations for our testimony. I've divided our case into three major parts, so we're presenting witnesses in that order. You'll be the last one I call, but I want to prepare you for cross-examination. Rochester's going to do everything he can to make you slip."

"Now?" I asked, a little taken aback.

"The more practice you have, the better off you'll be," she said.

I knew this part was necessary, but it really wasn't what I wanted to be doing.

"So let's start with the night the Potters died," she said brusquely, jumping right in. "Is it true that they made you their Secret-Keeper?"

"No," I said. "They used Peter."

"So they never used you," said Ms. Novak. She was looking at me directly, and I was sure she wasn't blinking. "Even though various witnesses gave testimony claiming you were?"

"I was in the beginning—"

"So you lied. You _were_ their Secret-Keeper."

I stared at her, stunned.

She sighed. "Stick to short answers. Use yes and no as much as possible. Don't try to explain your answers; just stick to the facts. Let's try again. Were you the Secret-Keeper?"

I sighed, already exhausted with this. "Yes."

"So you told You-Know-Who their location—"

"No," I interrupted. "We switched."

"With who?"

"Peter Pettigrew."

"Can anyone vouch for this?" she asked sternly.

"No," I said, feeling stupid. "We didn't tell anyone we switched."

"Why not?" she pressed.

"I knew Voldemort would come after me," I said wearily. I felt like I had said this story a thousand times. "So I told them to use Peter, and we didn't tell anyone. This way, Voldemort would come after me and Peter would be safe."

"Why not tell your friends? Or Dumbledore?"

"We knew there was a spy," I said, voice heavy.

"You thought Dumbledore might be a spy?" she interrupted.

"No," I said quickly.

"Then why not tell him?"

I hesitated, and she jumped on it. "Isn't it convenient that the only people who can confirm this story are dead, Mr. Black? Otherwise it's your word against Mr. Pettigrew's."

I stared at her, at a loss for words again. Was this really how it was going to be? I might as well blow myself up and get it over with.

Remus had been watching us, immobile near the sink.

"It's better to admit a mistake then to let a question go unanswered," said Ms. Novak, her voice gentle now. "If you hesitate, the prosecution is going to fill in answers for you. Rochester is trained to set up traps, and he'll push you right into one."

Remus set down two mugs of tea on the table between us. He hesitated as though unsure if he should join us at the table, but decided on it a moment later.

"Why didn't you tell anyone you switched?" Ms. Novak continued in the same brusque voice.

"I wasn't thinking clearly," I said, forcing the words out with difficulty. It was like scraping my soul against jagged rocks. "I didn't trust the same people Dumbledore trusted. If it was only myself and Peter who knew, then I could be absolutely certain James and Lily would be safe." I chanced a glance at Remus, who was staring into his mugs, both hands wrapped around it. I wondered what he was thinking, but his face was unreadable.

"Where were you the night Lily and James were killed?" Ms. Novak asked. She said it in such an emotionless voice that it was like she was reading off a potion ingredient list.

"I had arranged to check on Peter that night," I said, trying to push the images away. "But when I got to his apartment, it was empty. There wasn't any sign of a struggle, nothing. I knew something was wrong, so I headed straight to the Potter's." I stopped here.

Ms. Novak watched me for another minute. "And?"

I rubbed my temples and the back of my neck. An enormous headache was forming there. "Do we have to do this?"

"Yes," said Ms. Novak, but her tone hadn't changed. She still sounded like a cold prosecutor. "It's going to be a hundred times harder when we're in court, because once you're on the stand, I can't help you. The only way to prepare yourself is to practice. You have to say these things out loud."

"Can I just declare insanity instead?" I asked.

"Do you want to switch from a prison cell to a hospital cell?" she asked, her voice betraying a hint of annoyance.

I looked at Remus from between my hands. He was sitting across from me, watching me with a small frown. At first I was afraid I'd see pity there, but it was something else etched in his features.

"When I arrived at their house, I realized what Peter must have done," I said, still looking at Remus as I spoke. I paused, then said, "Hagrid was there. He had Harry."

"Who's Hagrid?"

"He's the gamekeeper at Hogwarts. He said Dumbledore sent him to collect Harry and take him to his Aunt and Uncle's house. So I gave him my motorbike and went after Peter."

"What were you going to do once you found Peter?" Ms. Novak asked. This time her voice was quiet and mine was aggressive.

"I was going to kill him."

"You found Peter the next afternoon. Is that correct?"

"Yes," I said, trying to ignore the anger that was swirling in the pit of my stomach. I could feel my hands starting to shake, and I had to put them around the tea mug so it would stop. "He was in Diagon Alley, trying to buy an illegal Portkey off a wizard. When he saw me, he ran for it and I followed. He stopped once we reached the muggle street outside. He yelled for the whole street to hear that I betrayed Lily and James. Then, with the wand behind is back, he blew it all up and killed anyone within twenty feet of himself. He cut off his finger and transformed into a rat, disappearing beneath the sewers."

"Did anyone see him transform?" Ms. Novak asked, her voice becoming stern again.

"No. There was too much chaos."

"Then how did you see it?"

"I knew what I was looking for," I said bitterly. "Besides, I was right in front of him. I saw everything."

Ms. Novak took a deep breath, then said, "Okay, I think that's enough for tonight."

The air had grown heavy and intense, and it felt like a dark cloud had made its way into the house. Remus got up and refilled everyone's mugs before laying more wood on the fire in the kitchen stove. Satisfied that the air had warmed somewhat, Remus sat back down and Ms. Novak turned to me once more.

"Do you have any questions?" she asked. Her voice was gentle, but it still didn't sound quite right after she had just mentally assaulted me.

I tried to think of something. I'm sure I did—I still wasn't completely sure how a trial worked—but I couldn't think of how to organize it into an articulate thought.

"Is it public? The trial?" Remus asked.

"No," said Ms. Novak firmly. "No, it's completely private, even against the media. The Ministry doesn't want anything to get out before they get a chance to explain it."

"Will I be allowed in?" he continued. I turned to look at Remus. I should have expected this, but for some reason, I was still a little surprised. I guess I was still getting used to the idea that he didn't hate me.

Ms. Novak hesitated. "Most likely, but I'll find out for sure."

"Once I get there, where do I go?" I asked. It was a dumb question, but I genuinely didn't know.

"There will be Aurors to escort you," she said, taking a sip of her tea. "But we'll meet up in the corridor outside the courtroom—the same one from your arraignment. When it's time, the Aurors will escort you in. Through most of it, we'll be sitting together off to the side. The center chair is for whichever witness or professional is giving testimony. The Wizengamot will be arranged the same way they were at the arraignment. Rochester and I will give opening arguments, and then Rochester will start presenting his evidence. Like I said, the only thing you're going to have to do is be present for the first several days. When the day is over—and Madam Bones makes that declaration—we'll meet up with Remus in the outside corridor and you'll come back here. Every day, that's how it's going to work."

"Is Peter going to be present?" Remus asked. His voice was civil, but I caught the way his jaw tightened when he spoke.

"Not to my knowledge," said Ms. Novak, shrugging. "But Rochester can introduce witnesses at any time, as long as we're notified before Peter actually gives testimony."

"So what exactly are they charging Sirius with?" Remus asked.

Ms. Novak sighed. "They're not introducing anything in the legal sense of the word, because officially Sirius has already been charged."

I rolled my eyes at that.

"This trial is more like an appeal. The court is to determine if there is enough evidence to warrant your conviction."

"So I'm still legally guilty."

"Yes," she said slowly. "But the court is holding very little to that ruling since it was given illegally."

I looked at Remus, who had a similar expression as me. "What does that even mean?"

"In wartime, the Wizengamot handed off sentences based solely on the evidence collected by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. According to Wizarding law, a legal proceeding must occur for a witch or wizard to be declared guilty of a crime. But it was wartime, and no one questioned the great lengths the Ministry went to in order to put Death Eaters away. Ten years ago, your conviction held full legal weight. Now, however, the Ministry is returning back to following their own rules, so to speak. Your trial is a very unique case."

"So what happens when he's cleared?" Remus asked.

I smiled wryly at that. When, not _if. _

"Your record's erased, and you're free to go."

"He doesn't have to return for any sort of discharge?" Remus continued, sipping his tea. I had no idea how Remus had learned so much about wizarding law and enforcement.

"There will be paperwork, but I'll be the one to fill it all out," said Ms. Novak. "If they need anything, I'll let you know."

Remus turned to look at me. I realized he expected me to ask something, but I had no idea what to say. "Er, yeah. That sounds…"

"Dreadful?" Ms. Novak suggested wryly. "No trial is easy. But you'll get through it," she said, nodding in Remus' direction. "You have friends to help you out."

Remus and I looked at each other again, and there were a thousand things conveyed between us in that look. How I had suspected him of being the spy, how he had allowed me to be thrown into Azkaban, how we were both convinced the other only had hatred for ourselves…the last eleven years had been nothing but mistrust and fear. But somehow we had both survived, and were still friends at the end of it.

Ms. Novak stood up to leave, picking up her briefcase. "I'll keep you posted when anything changes before the start of the trial. All of the important details are taken care of, so just try to eat and sleep well before the twenty-fourth."

"Thank you for coming," said Remus, nodding to her.

When Ms. Novak had disapparated, Remus and I were left in the kitchen, staring at the table between us in heavy silence. Remus hadn't asked me about why I'd thought he was the spy or how Peter had escaped, but now he pretty much didn't need to. Would he still forgive me, knowing now that it had been my stupidity that killed Lily and James?

Remus collected the empty tea mugs and rinsed them in the sink before staring absently at the contents of his pantry. "What do you feel like eating?" he asked.

I sat back in the chair, shrugging. "I thought about doing something with the potatoes." It didn't sound very exciting—we ate potatoes nearly every day because they were easy to grow—but I didn't want to use up the food Remus had purchased from the market too soon.

Remus closed the pantry door, obviously as uninspired as me. In truth, I didn't feel like eating; the meeting with Ms. Novak had completely killed my appetite.

Remus opened his icebox and withdrew a wrapped pound of butcher's meat. "Does stew sound all right?" he asked, turning to look at me.

I half-shrugged. "Stew sounds fine."

Remus started preparing dinner, even though it was typically my routine to do so. I didn't have the energy for it, however, so I let him cook without comment. Once everything was simmering on the stove, Remus sat back down at the table across from me. He gave me an earnest look that made me feel self-conscious.

"You okay?"

I returned his look with a dead one of my own. Was I okay? I felt like I was walking to my death with a bag over my head. But I also felt an overwhelming relief knowing my darkest nightmares in Azkaban hadn't come true. Remus didn't hate me. People believed me.

"I'm okay."


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Yeah, so I've been gone a while. A lot of things happened since the last chapter, like my laptop getting stolen, moving two and a half thousand miles away, a new job, etc. In all fairness, I did have several more chapters written before my laptop was kidnapped, and that kind of killed my drive for writing. Anyway, this chapter is not edited because it was all written today, but maybe you'll still like it anyway.

Chapter seven:

My life had a very consistent pattern that month. I would wake up at what I considered an ungodly hour, and half the time when I came downstairs, Remus was already there. He would make a plain breakfast, often little more than oatmeal with different things thrown in. Then we would each retire to different parts of the house; Remus favored the sitting room, and I tended to haunt the crooked back porch. It rained most mornings, but often the afternoons were sunny and warm. I sat outside for almost six hours the first time the sun crept through the rainclouds. It was the first time I had seen bright, blinding daylight in ten years.

In an attempt to keep myself occupied with anything but thoughts of the trial, I tried to persuade Remus to pick up cigarettes from town. I was never an avid smoker before, and Remus knew this. Perhaps that's why he just rolled his eyes at me and brought home a few paperback crosswords instead. On another afternoon he returned with a paper bag full of old clothes meant for me, including a decent muggle-style suit. I knew this was obviously meant to improve my ragged appearance at the trial. I appreciated it, but at the same time thoughts concerning the trial at all tended to put me in a dark mood.

"I had a few friends put some things together," said Remus by way of explanation.

"What, you don't like sharing your clothes with me?" I tried, taking a stab at being humorous. In truth, I was an awkward shape to fit. I had always been a few inches taller than Remus, but now I had shrunk a thousand sizes smaller, too. I usually rolled up the shirt sleeves to hide the fact that they were too short, but the trousers still came at least three inches above my ankle, and I had to poke an extra hole in the old belt I used.

"You look like a mess in them," said Remus, folding the shirts he withdrew from the bag. "Besides, if I remember right, you have an affinity for muggle clothing anyway."

Ms. Novak still came to the house regularly, and so did Kingsley Shacklebolt. Even though he was supposed to be my intimidating Auror guard, I had grown to like Kingsley quite a bit. Ms. Novak, for her part, kept me updated on the status of all the evidence being compiled in a rush before mid-September. In addition to drilling me with leading questions, she also prepped all of the witnesses, especially Remus. Ms. Novak didn't hold back, and I felt bad for him.

"Tell me about Mr. Pettigrew," she began one evening in early September, when we were all sitting in Remus' tiny kitchen. Ms. Novak had a cup of tea, but Remus and I decided to go with a bottled beer each.

"He was our friend in school," Remus began steadily. "We grew up together, and remained friends after graduation. For the first year, Peter and I shared a flat together."

"Did he ever talk about an interest in joining the Dark Lord?"

"No," said Remus calmly. "No, like us, he seemed committed to fighting Lord Voldemort."

"Were you aware of the Potters going into hiding?"

"I was. I was one of the few people who knew."

"And how did you feel when the Potters chose Mr. Black as their Secret Keeper?"

Remus shot me an apologetic look, to which I waved a hand dismissively. Remus took a deep breath before saying, "I was worried."

"Worried?" Ms. Novak repeated before Remus could elaborate. "Why?"

"Because we knew someone close to the Potters was handing over information," said Remus slowly. "The only people it could have been were myself, Sirius, or Peter."

"So you suspected Mr. Black."

Remus hesitated for a split second. "Yes."

"You can't hesitate," instructed Ms. Novak in the same brusque voice. She was young, probably even younger than me, but she was incredibly intimidating. "I know it's hard, but you have to be quick. Be straightforward. If you don't look one-hundred percent certain, then Rochester is going to make sure the court sees it."

Remus nodded curtly. "Right. Okay."

"Let's try again."

* * *

><p>By the time the trial rolled around, it was hard to tell who the bigger wreck was, me or Remus.<p>

Neither of us slept well the few days before, and it showed. Remus had a little more meat on him, but I still looked like a skeleton in a used grey suit the morning of the trial. I was trying to figure out the plain black tie, but my hands were shaking too badly and I couldn't focus. Remus took one look at me and was instantly impatient with me. He pulled out his wand, and in one easy flick, the tie worked itself into the proper knot.

Remus had been allowed to attend all of the proceedings, and so he was dressed in his best threadbare blazer and old slacks. He kept encouraging me to eat breakfast, but he hadn't touched anything himself.

I thought I would throw up for sure.

Ms. Novak showed up for a few minutes earlier that morning, offering words of encouragement. She looked pretty confident, but I had no idea why. Her energy made me edgy.

Kingsley showed up too, accompanied by Dawlish. They would escort me to the Ministry. Dawlish offered a good morning, but otherwise remained pretty quiet. Kingsley tried to be encouraging, but I still dropped my mug of tea twice before I could force down a piece of toast.

We used the Floo Network to get to the Ministry, which is all very well. If we had apparated, my meager breakfast would be on the floor.

We were in the bottom-most floor, in the Department of Mysteries. The floors were shiny and back, and the walls stained so dark they almost matched. Ministry officials were everywhere, and there were Aurors guarding rooms labeled "Witness." I followed Kingsley and Dawlish through several corridors, trying to ignore the sinking feeling forming in my gut at all the stares I was receiving. We went through a narrow doorway, and I found myself in the same waiting hall I had been to during my arraignment. Remus sat down on one of the benches, but I was too anxious to sit still.

"Are you all right?" Kingsley asked me in an undertone.

I had no idea how I appeared on the outside, but I was sure it was complete shit. I felt awful. I gave a weird sort of involuntary shudder in response.

Kingsley reached into his pocket and withdrew a small vial, no bigger than a pod of Venomous Tentacula seeds. He uncorked it and handed it to me. "Here, this should help."

I trusted Kingsley not to try and poison me, and so I downed the pale orange solution in one swallow. Just as I did, some stuffy-looking court official appeared in the doorway, flanked by an Auror I didn't recognize. "The court is ready for you, now."

Shit.

Remus was directed to the main entrance to take his seat. I hovered in the hallway with Kingsley and Dawlish. I no longer had the urge to run away, but I still felt sick to my stomach. Once everyone who was official had taken their seats, Kingsley and Dawlish were allowed to escort me in, like I was the main attraction to some demented circus.

"I'm sorry, but we're required to," said Kingsley, withdrawing a pair of shackles.

My heart fell when I saw them, but I still held out my hands in resignation. I wondered if I would ever live to see a day where I wasn't viewed as a monster. The shackles felt a lot heavier than I remembered, but that was probably because I was out of my mind when I had been arrested.

It was the same courtroom I had been in before, but this time it was packed. The Wizengamot sat in their usual seats with bright purple robes, and on either side of them appeared to be some sort of lower court wearing dark red. The rest of the occupants were strangers; I supposed a lot of them were other Ministry officials, but I wasn't sure. Dawlish and Kingsley led me to the far side of the coutroom, where a table and three chairs sat; Ms. Novak was in one of them. She looked up for a split second when I was sat down in the chair next to her, but quickly returned back to the pile of parchment she was sifting through. Kingsley took the seat next to me, obviously meant to keep guard.

I looked around the courtroom, trying to find Remus or Dumbledore in all the chaos. I was very aware that almost everyone in the room was watching me. Their whispers buzzed around the court like a swarm of bees.

Before I could, however, a gavel echoed and the room fell silent. Like everyone else, my gaze instantly moved to Madam Bones, who was at her usual high seat.

Satisfied that the room had quieted down, Madam Bones said in a projecting voice, "Monday, September fourteenth, the full Wizengamot court convenes to hear testimony regarding the case of Sirius Orion Black." As she spoke, I could see at least three scribes in the bottom rows scribbling away hastily with elaborate quills. Madam Bones adjusted her monocle and looked up. "Is the accused present?"

"Stand up," whispered Ms. Novak suddenly, nudging me as she got to her feet.

I did as instructed. I felt like all the lights had gone out and a single, overbright spotlight was directed towards me.

"Let the record show that the accused is present," continued Madam Bones, her tone so clinical it almost sounded bored. She made a mark of some sort on the parchment in front of her, and then turned her attention to the other side of the room. "And will Ms. Novak and Mr. Rochester step forward?"

Ms. Novak gestured that I could sit down again as she slid past me and stepped onto the open floor. Mr. Rochester followed, looking smug with his hands in his pockets. Unable to do anything to fight the urge to shake the man senseless, I had to settle for cracking my knuckles over and over.

"Will you state your positions for the record?"

"William Rochester, Chief Prosecutor for the Ministry of Magic," said Rochester clearly. He glanced around the courtroom and his gaze fell on me for a fraction of a second before turning back to Madam Bones. "My duty is to represent the public in the case of Sirius Black."

"Anna Novak, Defense Attourney for Sirius Black. I am representing him in the case of _State versus Black._"

I had never been to a trial before, and found the formalities strangely hypnotizing. Perhaps because it was my fate this whole affair was about.

"All right, Mr. Rochester," said Madam Bones, giving the man an oddly challenging look. "Please provide us with your opening argument."

Rochester waited until Ms. Novak had returned to her seat next to me. He took a long sip of water from the pitcher on his own table, watching me. I stared back, trying to prepare for whatever he was about to say.

"I graduated Hogwarts in 1962," Rochester began. "I studied and worked until I had managed to obtain a position with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement in 1965. At this time, the Dark wizard we became to know as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had begun his reign of terror across the wizarding world that would last for almost 16 years.

"Like many of you, I lost family and friends during this time," Rochester continued. "My brother and his family, numerous friends, and countless co-workers died at the hands of You-Know-Who and his supporters. I often wondered whether I would survive, or my mother, who was muggle-born. Like you, I feared for myself and everyone around me.

"Ten years ago," he continued, his voice echoing around the coutroom. "The Wizarding world saw the most evil wizard to have ever existed finally fall. Surely an end to such a tyrannical wizard meant the end of his regime. This was not so," he stated, his tone suddenly taking force. He spoke like an overzealous Minister. "Evil still lingered. Supporters of the Dark Lord remained, and continued to commit terrible atrocities—atrocities which include the calculated betrayal of two innocent members of our community, the attempted murder of a third, and the senseless mass destruction of twelve muggles in the middle of a November afternoon."

Well, Rochester certainly had a penchant for theatric language. In only a few sentences, he had managed to paint me as a monster worse than Voldemort. I chanced a glance at the Wizengamot, and wondered how on earth Ms. Novak would be able to turn that around.

"We must ask ourselves, how do we respond to such an evil act?" Rochester continued. "How do we restore peace and a sense of goodness into a community constantly torn apart by wickedness?" He paused, letting that sink in before continuing. "With justice," he finally said, looking around the courtroom. "Justice will see to it that Dark magic is eradicated from our community, and justice will keep those who wish to see your sons and daughters dead are locked up forever. Justice will make sure Sirius Black remains in Azkaban prison, where he belongs.

"I will present to you evidence which supports the charges facing the accused. You will hear testimony regarding Black's affiliation with Death Eaters, his penchant for violence, and most importantly, facts regarding his crimes. You will be presented with evidence that proves Black was the only possible suspect to hand over Lily and James Potter to You-Know-Who, resulting in their murders and thus orphaning their only son. You will be presented with evidence both disturbing and terrible. But it is your duty to hear it, and to serve that justice. Justice that will avenge the deaths of twelve people, and countless other crimes not yet brought to light. Justice that will keep a Death Eater and a cold-blooded killer in Azkaban."

Rochester looked over the entire courtroom once before nodding to Madam Bones and returning to his seat on the opposite side of the room.

Madam Bones looked like an enormous weight was just pressed to her chest. "Ms. Novak?"

Ms. Novak didn't waste any time. She got to her feet and crossed to the center of the room in a few clicking strides. Unlike Rochester, she didn't size up the room; instead she turned to face the Wizengamot head-on. "Mr. Rochester is correct in his retelling of the dark days during You-Know-Who's effort to overtake the Wizarding world. In an attempt to combat the rising darkness, the Ministry did everything within its power to keep up—things which, today, we might reconsider. It was a dark time, yes, we all remember. But let's also remember that everyone was a suspect. The Ministry could arrest you and search your house without probable cause. They could detain you indefinitely, question you without representation, and even charge you for crimes and throw you in prison without proof. While this was a temporary response to the escalating violence and terror perpetuated by You-Know-Who and his followers, these are still facts—and without all the facts a half-truth is nothing more than a cowardly lie.

"I will present to you hard evidence and witnesses who can attest to these facts—facts that prove Mr. Black is not responsible for the crimes for which he is accused. You will hear testimony regarding the night of the Potters' murders and the following afternoon in which twelve muggles were killed. You will be presented with testimony by Mr. Rochester condemning my client as a Death Eater and a murderer, and you will hear facts that prove Mr. Black is innocent, caught in a terrible system of half-truths that took away ten years of his life."

Ms. Novak briefly looked over the Wizengamot when she had finished speaking, then returned to her seat next to me.

It was only the opening arguments, and I was completely overwhelmed. I don't know what I had been anticipating, but I wasn't prepared for this whole affair to be as huge as it was.

Madam bones twirled her quill in her fingers distractedly for a moment, seemingly waiting for something. She set it down roughly all of a sudden, and called out clearly, "Mr. Rochester, you may present your evidence."

* * *

><p>The moment the court was adjourned for the day, I felt like throwing up but I managed to keep myself together. Kinglsey led me into the narrow hall adjacent to the courtroom, which was blessedly private. My legs felt weak and I fell rather than sat onto the wooden bench. Kingsley unlocked my shackles for me, but I wasn't sure if he was allowed to yet. Thinking about anything suddenly felt so overwhelming, and I quickly bent over, holding my head between my knees to keep from vomiting.<p>

"You did well," came a familiar voice.

I looked up to see Ms. Novak standing over me. "I didn't do _any_thing."

"You held it together very well," she continued firmly. "Rochester was hoping to get a rise out of you this morning, and you didn't respond."

I let my head disappear back between my knees. I had no idea how I was supposed to sit through weeks of this; let alone survive the time when I would be the one questioned in front of the entire court.

I hardly paid attention to the journey back to Remus' house. I yanked the tie off my neck and slid out of the jacket; my clothes suddenly felt too constricting. Remus offered to make dinner, but at that mention, I did finally throw up in the sink. There wasn't much of anything in my stomach, so most of it was fighting the urge to dry heave.

Remus and Kingsley went into action around me, preparing a small glass of whiskey, a cold washcloth, and a pot of tea on the stove. Remus directed me to the small dining table, where he forced me to sit. Kingsley handed me the glass of whiskey; I downed it like a shot at a party, though I'm sure he meant for me to sip on it. I shuddered at the burn of liquor in my throat and let my forehead rest on the table. Remus laid the damp cloth against the back of my neck.

"It won't get easier, but you'll get used to it," said Kingsley in his slow, deep voice. Suddenly his hands were on my shoulders, and his thick fingers began working the knots out of my neck. I was surprised by the contact, but the feeling—deep enough to be just on the cusp of painful—was too much for words. "I've worked enough trials to know. And I've seen enough Aurors chase empty leads to know how to work away that anxiety attack," he added.

I didn't want to believe it, but after a minute or two, the urge to explode had abated and I suddenly felt more rational. I sat up, removing the damp washcloth from my neck. Kingsley took the cup of tea Remus handed him and poured a generous amount of whiskey in it before handing it to me. "Sip it this time around."

The taste almost made me gag, but the heat of the tea and the heat of the liquor helped settle my stomach. "Kingsley," I said after a moment. "Be honest with me—do I have a flying fuck of a chance?" I knew swearing wasn't the most graceful way of putting it, but I didn't exactly care.

Kingsley took a seat at the table heavily, watching me for a moment. Remus was leaning against the counter, arms folded. "Yes, you do."

I raised an eyebrow. "You sure?" I gave a weak laugh.

"More than a flying fuck's worth," he said seriously.

In spite of myself, or perhaps because I was so flooded with complicated and overwhelming emotions, I chuckled at that.

* * *

><p>The next week was definitely the hardest of my life—I would count the week in which James and Lily died, but a lot of that was foggy and I didn't remember it clearly.<p>

Each morning I forced myself out of bed after a terrible night's sleep; I managed to have nightmares in spite of the potions from St. Mungo's. Kingsley and Dawlish would show up to escort Remus and I to the Ministry. Remus would take his usual seat somewhere in the courtroom, and Ms. Novak would meet with me before it was time for the shackles and the testimony given by Rochester.

On the third day, Rochester didn't waste any time calling up Remus as his first witness after the short lunch break. We knew to expect this, and yet I felt terrified for my friend. I was afraid that they would somehow find out about his condition, or else condemn him for associating with me. But Remus took his seat calmly, even a little proudly, and faced Rochester with a stoic expression.

"How long have you known the defendant?"

"Since our first day at Hogwarts," Remus replied. "So that's…nearly twenty years."

"Please describe your relationship."

"We were best friends. Sirius, myself, James, and Peter."

"And by James and Peter, you mean James Potter and Peter Pettigrew?"

"Yes."

"How was your relationship with Sirius in particular?"

"Good," Remus replied without missing a beat. "Like I said, he was one of my best friends."

"But isn't it true that you two had a falling out sometime in your fifth year at Hogwarts?"

I felt my heart skip a beat at that. _How _did Rochester know about that? Remus hesitated, but before Rochester could pounce, Ms. Novak was already on her feet. "I object, Madam. This has absolutely nothing to do with the case at hand. Mr. Rochester is merely trying to goad the witness—"

"I will make my point very clearly in just a moment, Madam," interrupted Rochester, shooting Ms. Novak a dark look.

Madam Bones sighed. "I'll allow it, but you better make that point soon, Mr. Rochester. Mr. Lupin, you may answer the question."

Remus quickly schooled his features again. "Yes, that's true. We didn't speak for three months. But soon after the Christmas holiday, we made up and all was forgiven."

"What was forgiven?" Rochester prodded.

I wanted to disappear into the floor and die.

"We had an argument," said Remus stiffly. "I thought he was taking advantage of my prefect status to fool around the school. I accused him of things that weren't true, and we stopped speaking."

This wasn't even close to what actually happened, but I was impressed by how easily Remus was able to lie.

"So you say Black had a penchant for 'fooling around the school.' Had he always shown a disregard for the rules?"

"He liked to have a laugh," said Remus. His voice was calm, but I could tell he was getting angry at Rochester for fishing around.

"That wasn't the question I asked," said Rochester coolly. "Did he or did he not have a habit of regularly breaking school rules?"

"Yes," said Remus stiffly, his gaze cold.

"What about when you left school?" Rochester continued, hands in his pockets. He paced around the open floor, completely at ease with himself. "How was your relationship then?"

"About the same as it was with my other friends," said Remus. "We joked, we went out, we all went to James and Lily's wedding. But when Voldemort moved into the open, we were all stressed out. It took a toll on my friendship with everyone."

"Did you know that Black was made the Secret-Keeper for Lily and James?"

"Yes," said Remus, folding his hands in his lap. "James told me the night before they performed the charm."

"What was your reaction to the news?"

Ms. Novak had guessed well, and prepared Remus heavily for this question. "I was worried, because I knew someone close to the Potters had been providing Voldemort with information for over a year."

"You were worried that they chose Black?"

"The only people that could have been the spy were myself, Peter, or Sirius. I knew it wasn't me, and Peter seemed like the least likely candidate."

Mr. Rochester pretended to look thoughtful at that. I wanted to smack the look right off his face. Remus, however, kept remarkably calm up on the witness chair. "So tell me if I have this correctly…because Black had a long history of breaking rules, an explosive temper, and had direct ties to the Dark Lord himself through family members, he seemed the more likely candidate?"

I wanted to disappear into the floor. Strangle Rochester. Cause a huge scene in the middle of the courtroom. Anything to keep Remus from being forced to answer that question.

"Yes," Remus whispered. His jaw was clenched.

"Hmmm," Rochester mused with blatant disregard for, well, how horrible and fucked up his questions were. "Do you believe Black was the Secret Keeper?"

"No," said Remus, his anger projecting his voice. "I do not. I believe that Sirius is telling the truth when he says that he and Peter switched places."

Rochester chuckled at that. I felt a hand on my arm suddenly, and realized that I had moved forward in my seat. Kingsley gave me a warning look, and didn't let go until I sank back into the chair. "What changed your mind?"

"In hindsight, it's easier to understand the things I didn't ten years ago," said Remus. "Back then, I was afraid. I was prejudiced against Sirius because half of his family were Death Eaters, so I assumed it was a matter of time before he was one, too. I was too scared and too stupid to realize that Sirius would never turn on his friends."

"Black's statement admits that he went after Mr. Pettigrew with the intention of killing him," Mr. Rochester pointed out.

"Peter had just led our two best friends to their deaths. I can't judge him for how he felt after that."

"Murderous," said Rochester loudly. "If his statement is true, then he acknowledges a plan to commit murder. Why not turn to the Ministry, or to you? Why is Black's first reaction murderous revenge instead of seeking the help of the law?" Mr. Rochester, eyes locked on Remus, took a step forward. "Because that's a killer's first instinct. Someone who only knows how to respond with violence."

* * *

><p>That night was not an easy one. We traveled back to Remus's house in complete silence. Kingsley and Dawlish took their leave soon after. Remus banged around in the kitchen angrily, searching for something to prepare for dinner.<p>

"Do you want me to cook?" I offered, frowning.

"No," Remus snapped, slamming a cutting board down on the counter and throwing a bag of potatoes on top. He yanked open his cutlery drawer that the whole thing came out, spilling utensils everywhere. Remus swore—a rare occurrence, and whipped out his want to clean up the mess. One knife in particular had jammed itself deep into the old linoleum floor. Remus yanked it out with more force than was necessary and threw it on the counter with the potatoes.

The potatoes themselves, it turns out, were rotted all around. Remus swore again and threw the whole bag into the trash can. "Don't even have any bloody food—" I was sure he was ranting to himself.

I knew I was putting a significant amount of stress on Remus by being here, especially financially. Remus made a meager income by renting out his parents' old house, but it wasn't much for one person, let alone two. "Remus, maybe we should talk about this," I tried carefully, chewing on my thumbnail in anxiety.

"About what?"

"About me staying here—"

"What, you want to go to prison?" Remus said, rounding on me. "Because that's your other option."

In spite of myself, that jab stung more than it should have. "No, but if I'm keeping you from eating a damn meal each day—"

"Stop worrying about it!" Remus shouted. "Okay? Stop worrying about other people's problems and focus on your own!"

"Well, right now your problems and mine seem to be just about the same," I said testily.

"Your problem is staying out of Azkaban," Remus snapped. I hadn't seen him this angry since we were in school. "Which takes a whole lot of effort on everyone else's part, so why don't you forget the stupid fucking potatoes and worry about that instead?"

I didn't want to argue with Remus, but I was under so much stress that it all came out anyway. "So, what? Am I too much of a burden on you? Is that it?"

"I never said—"

"Because then maybe you and Dumbledore and everyone else should have just left me to rot in Azkaban, like you did ten years ago!" I snapped.

Remus looked like I had just hit him. I guess for all intents and purposes, it was kind of like I did. But I was running on wild anxiety and adrenaline, and it was too late to stop myself now. "Do you think I'm that stupid, Remus? That I'm not taking this seriously at all, that I'm just so impulsive and—stupid, I guess—that I don't realize how hard everyone is working to keep me out of prison? I mean honestly, how do you think that makes me feel? Knowing that I have to rely on everyone else around me to clean up for every stupid decision I've made?"

"Sirius, just shut up for one minute!" Remus yelled, trying to get a word in edgewise. "You are being stupid, you know that? Not because of the trial, or because of what Rochester thinks you did, but because you're all closed up and blaming yourself for things that you had no control over! It's maddening to see you all twisted, blaming yourself while simultaneously trying to prove you're innocent!"

"You know what else is maddening?" I yelled. "Fucking everything. The trial, Peter, being in this house—all of it!"

"So, what?" said Remus coldly. "Are you saying you don't want to stay here?"

I couldn't argue anymore. I was furious, but I couldn't even form a cohesive thought pinpointing the source of it. I just shook my head and disappeared through the creaky back door onto the porch, where I spent nearly all of my time before the trial.

I sat down heavily on the wooden steps leading into the overgrown lawn. Darkness had fallen, and a chilly breeze was working its way through the poplar trees that lined the side of Remus' house. The cold air cleared my mind, and though I tried to stay angry, I just couldn't anymore. I was too exhausted. This trial and everything about it seemed to suck the life out of me better than any dementor ever did.

Several minutes passed until I heard the creak of the door, followed by a few hesitant footsteps. Remus was standing next to me, but neither of us said anything right away. I bit at my thumbnail again, staring across the dark lawn.

"Here," said Remus.

I looked up to see him holding a pack of cheap cigarettes out. I took them hesitantly, surprised. "When did you get these?"

"I bought them two weeks ago, but I changed my mind about giving them to you right afterwards," Remus said, sitting down next to me. "But I guess you're warranted to smoke them."

"Got a light?" I asked, pulling one out. I hadn't touched a cigarette in ten years.

Remus sighed, pulling out his wand.

"Thanks," I said, taking a hesitant drag off of it. The smoke was thick and irritated my throat a little, but the familiar comfort came rushing back. "Want one?" I asked, sure of the answer.

Remus rolled his eyes. "Yeah, right. Don't even tempt me."

We sat in silence for several long minutes. Even though we had been at each other's throats just moments before, the whole ordeal had already faded into the background. Ever since my first night here, I had been worried that the last ten years had irreparably damaged our friendship. But after accusing each other of things we knew to be false, and then letting it just disappear into the night air, I was relieved.

Maybe there was hope for us after all.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter eight:

It was difficult having Sirius back. Being forced to see him move slowly around my house, his joints aching and his body entirely too thin, almost felt like punishment for me. And as sick as it was, I was glad for that.

When Peter had returned to the world as a man and not a rat, I was originally overcome with joy. I'm ashamed of that, now. It took a conversation with Dumbledore before we both agreed something was amiss. While Peter was stuck at the Ministry being bombarded with questions about his survival, Dumbledore gave himself permission to visit Azkaban and try to talk to Sirius. This was a long shot, of course. Ten years had passed, and to be perfectly honest, neither of us was entirely sure if Sirius was even alive.

That's what our friendship turned into.

So when Sirius was removed from Azkaban and handed over to a maximum-security ward in St. Mungo's, I knew that I would have to face a lot of issues I had been repressing for ten years. Like whether I actually believed Sirius was innocent.

I was too cowardly to visit Sirius in St. Mungo's, but I doubted whether the Ministry would have let me, anyway. But that was my routine; if I was unsure about something, I just took the Ministry's word for it. And that's how ten years came to pass where I never really knew if Sirius was even guilty.

So I made myself watch over Sirius like I was Madam Pomfrey. I wanted to cry at the mere sight of him, but I sucked it up. It was selfish, but it almost felt cathartic to make myself see him. Like I could finally start atoning for what I had done to him. Or didn't do, I suppose. I think indifference is far worse than outright hatred.

I can't deny that I was also elated to have Sirius back. I felt guilty a lot of the time; I shouldn't be feeling happy that my long loneliness was finally gone. But the occasional joke with Sirius, the revelation that some things about him hadn't changed after ten years in prison brought joy into my life.

It was a struggle for a while. I had to fight the urge to force him to eat and sleep, to try to cure him overnight. But with each slow day, Sirius managed to put on a little more weight, sleep just a little bit longer, and felt like talking a little more often. I wanted him to feel normal again, so I tried to back off most of the time. It wouldn't be fair of me to break down and beg for forgiveness; I didn't deserve it, but Merlin did I want it. So I encouraged him to cook, to read through the newspapers even if I wanted to burn them, and most importantly, to get _outside. _

I had managed to convince Kingsley to extend the security wards to the edge of my property instead of my walls. He was reluctant at first, but when I pointed out that Sirius needed fresh air more than anything else, he agreed. So Sirius spent almost all day, every day, sitting on the steps on the backyard porch. Just sitting. It rained a lot in the beginning, which disappointed me; August was usually hot and sunny. But Sirius didn't seem to mind. Sometimes I thought he even enjoyed it.

When the trial started, it was like all of Sirius' gains in the last month were wiped away. He continued to have nightmares in spite of the potions we tried, and could hardly stomach food. What little weight he had gained under my care quickly slid off him. I wrestled with the idea of force-feeding him, but decided against it. I was stupid to think I could really fix Sirius at all. The friend I had left ten years ago was dead, and this ghost of a man was all that was left.

It was true, I guess, that I was using the situation to punish myself. Sirius refused to blame me, and it drove me nuts. Sirius would never forgive me if he never blamed me.

So I tried to take care of my friend as best I could. Sirius' potions were a little more expensive than I had anticipated, but I refused to let that stop me. That, and trying to buy nutritionally-sound food. started to eat away at my pathetic savings. I think Sirius secretly knew this, but maybe he also knew that he would lose that argument if he brought it up.

We settled into a strange routine where we didn't talk much, but it never really felt like we avoided each other. That kind of awkwardness wasn't there. I didn't try to force myself back into Sirius's life. Instead, I just embraced the few moments where he let me in. I know he had to have been mortified by all the instances where I had to wake him from his own nightmares, but I took whatever closeness I could get. I was just happy to have my friend back, no matter the circumstances.

As the trial progressed, it took a toll on both of us. I finally snapped the night after Rochester made me publically disgrace Sirius in court. I felt lower than low after that; no advice from Ms. Novak could have prepared me for that. But like he's inclined to do, Sirius forgave me without me even asking. I made sure to keep myself in check after that. I wasn't the one on trial, so it wasn't fair of me to require any comforting.

I would be strong for my friend. What kind of person would I be to let him down again?


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter nine:

Rochester's horrible testimony took the better part of two weeks. I was up for grabs for any kind of questioning he wanted, and Rochester knew it, which is why he built up this overwhelming case and didn't bother to call me to the floor. He wanted to wait until Ms. Novak had built a counter-argument, and then try to tear it all down. Rochester did end his testimony on a nice note, bringing in some of the Hit Wizards who had arrested me.

"Was there any evidence to suggest that Black was perhaps under the control of a wizard, such as the Imperius Curse?"

"No," said the Hit Wizard. "No, he didn't give any of the usual signs of being under the Imperius Curse. In fact, he was laughing like it was the funniest thing he'd ever seen. Whatever happened, Black was in full control of his faculties."

After this, Rochester introduced his eye witness testimony. The muggles in question had long since had their memories wiped, but there were official Ministry documents detailing what had supposedly happened.

"The shorter man was running through the crowd. He was crying, and trying to get away from something. He shoved me into a wall to get past, and before I could even get up, a second man appeared. He was chasing the first bloke. They stopped at the end of the road. I didn't have a good view of the portly guy, but the other one—the black-haired one—he was holding some kind of funny stick. Before I knew it, the whole street had blown up," Rochester read in a loud, clear voice. "People were screaming, car alarms were going off. Everyone was running around, but the dust was so thick you couldn't see anything. But I did see that black-haired guy getting up, laughing his head off."

It was nearly October when Ms. Novak's turn came. She sat through Rochester's evidence in stoic silence, expertly tearing apart his witness testimony at any given opportunity. But whether it was enough to convince the court remained a complete mystery to me.

Ms. Novak was deliberately bringing me up for questioning last. I'm not sure why, but I guess she wanted her testimony to go out with a bang or something. A lot of the witnesses Rochester had called were repeated by Ms. Novak, although they presented somewhat different evidence this time around. Rochester worked to paint me like a monster, but Ms. Novak promised that she would make the court see the truth. She was a big fan of facts; I'm not so sure about the Wizengamot.

She called Arthur Weasley as her first witness, the father of the boy who had been unknowingly harboring Peter all these years.

"How long was the rat in your family?"

"Ten years," said Mr. Weasley.

"And you were certain you thought he was a common garden rat? That seems like an awfully long lifespan."

"We found him in the garden, and he took a great liking to my son, Percy. He was probably five or six at the time. Percy used to carry him around in his pockets. But Scabbers—that's what we named the rat—never seemed to age."

"Can you tell us what happened with the situation with the owl?"

"Yes," said Mr. Weasley, adjusting his weight in his chair. I had never met Arthur Weasley before, and almost felt sorry that a complete stranger had become so entangled in my messy affair. "When Percy found out he was made a Prefect this year, we decided to buy him an owl as a present. Percy decided to pass down Scabbers to our younger son Ron, who's just starting Hogwarts this year. When Percy let his owl out to hunt, Ron was playing with Scabbers in the kitchen. The owl swooped down on the rat. My sons started freaking out; Percy attempted to get the owl while Ron tried to chase Scabbers. The twins were there, too, trying to help. In all the commotion and firing of who knows what spell, Scabbers had turned into a man."

"That must have been quite a shock."

"Yes, it was," allowed Mr. Weasley, adjusting his glasses. "We had kept this rat for ten years, and had no idea it was an Animagus all this time. So we contacted the Ministry immediately. The man was panicky; he refused to tell us his name. My wife and I were alarmed; we thought perhaps he was on the run, or just trying to avoid paying any taxes by living as a rat. We were extremely shocked to find out the man's true identity was Peter Pettigrew. My wife and I both clearly remember the story about Mr. Pettigrew's supposed death."

"Can you think of any reason why Mr. Pettigrew would have chosen your family as his hiding spot?"

Mr. Weasley shrugged. "Not for my family in particular, no. But I imagine he would have scouted out a wizarding family just to keep an ear out."

After establishing the "suspicious circumstances" of Peter's sudden reappearance, as Ms. Novak liked to call it, she moved in chronological order. Minerva McGonagall, my old Head of House, was brought up to talk about my rocky relationship with my family during my last years at Hogwarts. Dumbledore, stepping down from the tall rows of the Wizengamot, testified that the Fidelius Charm had been recommended the court about the night Lily and James had died.

I knew Hagrid from school, and most of that time was spent with him chasing James and I away from the Forbidden Forest. He had been a part of the Order ten years ago, but I'm sure we only saw each other once or twice that entire time.

"What happened the night you went to Godric's Hollow?" Ms. Novak asked. Even sitting, Hagrid was still taller than her.

Hagrid obviously looked uncomfortable, but his answers were confident enough. As much as I appreciated his help, I wasn't sure how his testimony would help me. I had given Hagrid my old motorbike so I could go after Peter.

"When I got there, the house was in ruins, what with the whole left side just blown ter pieces. An' shortly after that, Black shows up on that flyin' motorbike he use ter ride. He about fainted when he saw the house. White an' shakin', he was. He says to give 'im little Harry, says he was the boys godfather an' that he'll look after 'im. But I had me orders to bring Harry ter his aunt and uncle's house, an' I said no."

I had been listening in a sort of quiet stupor, but I felt the air change at that. I looked up and saw alarm on several people's faces. They were whispering to each other in shock, shooting glances down at me. Madam Bones was obviously not willing to tolerate it; she slammed her gavel down a few times, signaling for everyone to be quiet.

"What happened after that?" Ms. Novak asked.

"Well, he argued o' course, but in the end he gave in. Gave me his motorbike ter use, said he won' need it anymore. Gave a last goodbye ter Harry, an' off he went. Never saw 'im again."

Satisfied, Ms. Novak said, "Thank you, Mr. Hagrid."

It was Rochester's turn, and he had this stupid look on his face like he was about to just turn everything upside down.

"How well did you know Black?" Rochester asked.

"'Bout as well as any other student," said Hagrid. "I saw 'im from time ter time after he left."

"You mentioned earlier that Black was Harry Potter's godfather," said Rochester slowly. "Did you know this before the night of the Potter's deaths?"

"Yep, I did."

"So why were you so reluctant to hand Potter over? If Black was indeed the godfather, shouldn't he have taken the baby?"

"That weren' my place to decide," said Hagrid. "Dumbledore said to bring 'im to his aunt and uncle's house, an' I wasn' about ter change the plan."

"Did you know that the Potters had been hiding under the guise of a Fidelius Charm?" Rochester continued, walking casually around the floor with his hands in his pockets.

"No," said Hagrid. "I reckon only the people involved knew."

"It really is good fortune that you didn't hand over Harry Potter to Black that night, isn't it?"

Hagrid frowned. "What d'you mean?"

"Well, Black might have pitched the baby off the motorbike halfway out to sea—"

"Objection, Madam!" Ms. Novak shouted, already on her feet. "Mr. Rochester is speculating—"

"I'm aware of that, Ms. Novak," said Madam Bones tersely. "Mr. Rochester, you will stick to asking questions, you understand?"

Mr. Rochester had a smug look on his face. "No need, Madam, I have no further questions."

Next it was Remus's turn, and he spent the rest of the afternoon up there. He told the court everything from when we graduated school up to the night Lily and James died. The morning after that, Ms. Novak called what seemed like every Ministry official involved in my arrest.

"What happened to Black's wand after he was arrested?" she asked.

"It was destroyed, following protocol at the time," said the wizard, a balding man with a red face.

"Were any inquiries made into the wand's previous spellwork?" Ms. Novak asked. "Did anyone check to see what the last spells were?"

"No, ma'am."

"So there is no record to state that Black's wand performed the spell that blew apart the street, correct?"

The man adjusted uncomfortably in his seat. "Well, there was eye witness testimony—"

"But no official test performed on the wand in question?"

The man sighed, resigned. "Correct."

Next were the Hit Wizards who had arrested me. I don't think they were too happy about it, but they explained how I had been moved from the wreckage of the street and straight into Azkaban in less than twenty minutes. Not a single person had attempted to question me. My photo was taken, I was branded with my prison number, and thrown in a cell. That was the end of it.

Rochester didn't bother to cross-examine these witnesses. I guess he figured he didn't need to. I think he was saving it for when Ms. Novak put me on the floor.

And finally, on October seventeenth, she did.

It was a cold, grey morning, and I had just spent the previous night getting hammered drunk with Remus. Luckily he knew a few remedies to prevent hangovers, or I would have been a complete wreck between the alcohol and my nerves.

It was a god-awful morning, to say the least. My old suit was carefully ironed, and I had polished the worn shoes Remus lent me to a high shine. There was over a month's worth of testimony that had been presented for me, and I felt like all this lead up might kill me for sure. I couldn't get the sinking feeling in my stomach to go away, and I thought my heart might explode from beating too fast.

I was downright terrified.

Once the typical morning formalities were out of the way, Ms. Novak called me to the floor. Kingsley had to help me stand up, but luckily I was able to walk to the center of the room on my own. I felt every pair of eyes in the room watching me; it was like an overbright spotlight. I took the center chair meant for me, and faced what would either be my freedom or my doom, whichever way it worked out.

"We've heard a lot of evidence," said Ms. Novak calmly. Her blonde hair glinted in the light, and now I really felt like there was a spotlight. "But right now, I want to hear your side. As I understand it, this is the first time you have been given opportunity to defend yourself."

Please, _please _don't let my voice shake. "Yes."

Ms. Novak took a deep breath. We both agreed that my part of the testimony was most important. "Did you do it?"

I couldn't look at the Wizengamot and keep my voice steady at the same time, so instead I focused on Ms. Novak. "No."

Ms. Novak almost looked a little sad now. "Then what happened?"

It took up through the lunch break—almost four hours. I was mentally exhausted. A few times my throat got too dry from speaking, and I had to stop to drink. My wrists were still chained, though, so I imagine I looked downright pathetic. I held it together pretty well until we got to the part where I had to explain the details of the night Lily and James died. I wanted to beat myself up, but I couldn't stop to get a grip on myself like I could back in Remus's kitchen.

"There was no sign of a struggle. It didn't feel right—Peter would never leave unless he thought his hideout had been compromised," I said, trying to talk over the lump in my throat. "So I set out for the Potter's right away." I had to stop here, mentally forcing myself to get a grip. "And when I got there…their, erm, house was completely destroyed. That's when…I realized what Peter must have done. What I'd done."

I could feel it coming on, but Merlin did I fight it.

"That's when you ran into Mr. Hagrid."

"Yes," I said. "He had Harry. I tried to convince him to give Harry to me, but he wouldn't, he said he had orders from Dumbledore. That's when it kind of hit me—that's when I started to understand everything that was going on.

"So I gave Hagrid my motorbike—and I went after Peter."

"Did you ever stop to think that you should find someone first? The Ministry, or your friends?" Ms. Novak asked.

I took a shuddering breath. I felt the slightest traces of hysteria. "No, I didn't," I said, staring at a spot on the floor. "I wasn't even thinking about how bad it looked for me—all I could think about was getting to Peter."

"What did you plan to do once you found him?"

I looked at Ms. Novak for a second. She was watching me with her arms folded and a strange expression on her face. Was it pity?

"I was going to kill him."

Ms. Novak took a few steps to the side, pacing, then said, "When and where did you find Peter?"

"In Diagon Alley, the next day," I said. "He was headed into Knockturn Alley. When I caught up to him, he was trying to buy an illegal Portkey off someone. But he saw me then, and ran for it. I chased him onto the muggle street outside the Leaky Cauldron. It was crowded, so it was hard to get to him. I tried stunning him, but I couldn't get a good view of him. I caught up to Peter just down the road, though—he had reached a sort of dead end.

"We both had our wands out. He yelled for the whole street to hear, yelled 'Lily and James, Sirius, how could you?' Before I could react, the street had blown up. I was knocked off my feet; there was dust everywhere, the air looked brown. People were screaming. My wand had been knocked out of my hand by the blast. Before I could find it, I saw Peter—he was standing near the edge of this huge hole in the street. He had a knife, and cut off his own finger." My voice was oddly monotone as I tried to recall the finer details. It had been a nightmare practicing it with Ms. Novak, but now I was glad we did. "He turned into his rat form and sped down the sewers. He had gotten away."

"What about these eye witness reports that state you laughed?" Ms. Novak asked.

"My best friends were dead. Harry was an orphan going to live with his awful aunt. I knew I was going to Azkaban for everything—I knew all the evidence pointed at me... And I didn't even manage to kill Lily and James's murderer before I was dragged off to prison. The whole reason I switched with Peter was because I thought he was innocent. And he had gotten the best of me in every way."

My questioning with Ms. Novak was done. Madam Bones decided to call a lunch recess before Rochester had his turn with me. Kingsley and Dawlish led me to the usual hallway outside the courtroom. I sank onto one of the benches, lightheaded. Kingsley removed the shackles, but I hardly noticed.

"How are you feeling?" Ms. Novak asked a moment later when she had joined us.

"I don't know," I said truthfully. I looked up at her. There seemed to be genuine concern on her face.

"Well, you did fantastically," she assured me, sitting on the bench next to me. "I know that wasn't easy."

I didn't reply. I felt like I was floating outside of myself. I wasn't sure if I was horrified or relieved. Maybe a little of both.

"You should eat something," she continued. "What do you want?"

"I want a hundred cigarettes," I replied honestly.

"I'll find him something," I heard Dawlish say.

I had gotten through everything we had rehearsed, and now it was just my interrogation by Rochester. I knew for myself that Rochester wouldn't hold back, and I only hoped that I could keep myself from trying to punch him. I had done everything I could to convince the Wizengamot, so now it was like they were no longer in the picture. I just had to deal with Rochester.

Dawlish appeared a few minutes later, a coffee in one hand and a paper sack in the other. "Here," he said, handing me the paper cup. "London's best. There's a bagel in here for you, too," he added, setting the paper bag down next to me.

"Thanks."

"And," he continued, pulling something out of his pocket. "Kingsley, I don't want to hear one smart word about it," he added, shooting his partner a stern look. He withdrew a pack of Lambert & Butler's, and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it before passing it to me.

"I'm pretty sure this building is off limits to smoking," Kingsley said in a disapproving voice.

Dawlish gave him a look. "The man's got to go back in there and take it while Rochester tries to tear him apart," he said by way of explanation. Dawlish had always been so formal when I was around him; it was surprising to see part of his real personality. "He deserves some coffee, the best bagels in London, and as many cigarettes as he can smoke in forty minutes, all right?"

Kingsley just shrugged, showing that he wasn't going to argue.

"Come to think of it, I'll have one myself," Dawlish muttered, opening the pack again. "This whole affair's going to give me a heart attack."

The lunch hour ended sooner than I was prepared for. Everyone filed back into the courtroom, and I was flanked by my usual guard. Instead of my usual seat on the far side of the room, Kingsley and Dawlish led me back to the witness chair in the middle of the floor.

Madam Bones checked her watch, then said, "Mr. Rochester, you may approach the defendant."

It was like an epic finale to a cat and mouse chase. Rochester had been working overtime to make sure I stayed in prison, and now here was his last chance to push me over the edge. He approached me with his usual calm demeanor, hands in his pockets. I sat rigidly in the chair, my back unnaturally straight. Rochester stopped a few feet in front of me, not breaking eye contact.

"That was a remarkable story you told this morning," he began.

Story? For fuck's sake, it was the truth!

"But I have some questions about a couple things that caught my attention," Rochester continued, frowning. Never before did I want to hit him as badly as I did now. "You said the Potters made you their Secret-Keeper initially, but then you switched to Peter Pettigrew in an attempt to fool He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. If you wanted to switch, why not with someone you had been working closely with? Albus, Dumbledore, for instance. He said himself that he offered to be Secret-Keeper to the Potters."

Rochester didn't waste any time trying to trip me up. I had no idea how to answer this question. "I wanted it to be someone I thought Voldemort wouldn't expect," I said, finally. "And it had to be someone close to Lily and James. Peter seemed to be the best candidate."

"Did you trust Dumbledore?" Rochester asked.

"Of course."

"Then why didn't you tell him about the plan?" he prodded. "You've explained why you didn't inform your friend Mr. Lupin, but if you trusted Dumbledore, why not him? Why not anyone?"

"The less people knew, the better," I replied. I couldn't keep the icy tone out of my voice. "So it was just me, Peter, and James and Lily."

"How convenient it must be," mused Rochester. "that the only people who can elaborate on this are dead."

"Maybe you should ask Peter Pettigrew," I replied. I'm sure it wasn't smart of me, but I wasn't going to lay down and let Rochester make me a monster.

Rochester wasn't deterred. "So after you ran into Mr. Pettigrew, and chased him into the muggle street, you were the only one to see him blow it up?"

I stared him down. But I could feel the nagging fear rising in my chest. "Yes."

"And you were the only one to see him transform?"

"Yes."

"And the only one to know that Peter Pettigrew was the Secret-Keeper?"

Oh, how I hated him. "Yes."

"So we have two options, here. The first, we have insurmountable testimony and eye witnesses who can attest that you claimed to be the Secret-Keeper, that you had blown up the street on November first, or we have your claim. Your claim that you were framed, even though there isn't a shred of proof to support your story. No one who can vouch for Mr. Pettigrew working for You-Know-Who, no one who saw him blow up the street."

He gave me a triumphant look. "Am I right, Mr. Black?"

He had cornered me in only five minutes. And I was sitting chained to a chair with at least two hundred eyes looking down on me, the main attraction in this horrible affair.

Satisfied, Rochester moved on to a different question. "Why not choose Remus Lupin, if your story is true?"

"I thought he was the spy," I said clearly, feeling all eyes upon me.

"Remus Lupin was very talented in school, from what I hear," Rochester said. "Top marks in all his classes."

"Yes."

"And Peter Pettigrew was…lagging behind a little, am I right? He struggled a lot in school. He got by, but he was no tough opponent."

I hesitated, trying to figure out where Rochester was taking this. "Yes," I said slowly.

"So it's a fact, then, that Pettigrew would have been an easier opponent to overcome than Remus Lupin. It would have been easier for You-Know-Who to force Mr. Pettigrew into giving up Lily and James's whereabouts, and easier to kill Peter under the false guise of 'revenge,' thus covering up all of your own tracks."

What in the hell…?

"Th—that's not what happened," I stammered. "I was trying to protect them—"

"Right," said Mr. Rochester coolly. "Your own brother was killed by Death Eaters for trying to back out of You-Know-Who's orders, and you knew you would be next. By sacrificing your friends you could save your own neck, but you didn't anticipate the Dark Lord would fall. So you had to cover up your tracks. When Peter Pettigrew met you that fateful morning, he had to go, too. Everyone was just in the way, weren't they?"

I'm sorry, Remus. I tried.

The next morning, we all convened in the courtroom as usual. Ms. Novak told me that this would be short, that it was merely an opportunity for the Wizengamot to invite any further evidence from either side. Ms. Novak was satisfied with her arguments, and Rochester had done a wonderful job himself, so she said it was likely we would be immediately dismissed while the Wizengamot deliberated.

Even though I knew the court wouldn't come to a decision right away, I was still sick with anxiety. I kept questioning if I had done enough. I briefly entertained the desperate idea of pleading to the Wizengamot to let me go.

When everyone was seated, Madam Bones called the room to order. "We've heard a great deal of testimony to consider," she said heavily, adjusting her monocle. "Is there anything else the defense would like the court to consider?"

"No, Madam, we're satisfied with our testimony," said Ms. Novak, standing up.

Madam Bones nodded. "Mr. Rochester? What do the People have to say?"

I watched Rochester get to his feet, straightening his tie as he did. "Yes, Madam, the People have one more witness we would like to call."

I turned to Ms. Novak, surprised. She did not look happy. "Madam, Mr. Rochester has not made the defense aware of his intent to seek a new witness, as is required—"

"By six am this morning," Rochester interrupted. He pulled a slip of parchment from his briefcase and handed it to Madam Bones. "And if you were in your office this morning, you would have found our updated witness list."

Ms. Novak looked livid. "Madam, you cannot seriously consider—"

Madam Bones held up her hand for silence as she read over Rochester's list. She sighed heavily, fixing him with a calculating look. "You're sure about this?"

"With full confidence, Madam," Rochester replied. I looked between him and Ms. Novak, trying to figure out what was going on.

Madam Bones sighed again. "I'll allow it. Call your witness."

Mr. Rochester looked at me as he spoke. "The People would like to call upon Peter Pettigrew."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter nine:

To say the least, there was chaos in the courtroom at this revelation. People turned to their neighbors in agitation and excitement, and it was all Madam Bones could do to keep order. It was all I could do to stay in my seat, even if Kingsley didn't have a grip on my arm.

The main doors opened, and a few seconds later, amidst a noisy courtroom and fascinated stares, Peter Pettigrew walked forward and sat down in the center chair. I hadn't seen him in ten years, but I quickly noticed that while I starved for ten years, Peter fattened up. Apparently life as a rat had been rather good to him, but he didn't look so great now. He wrung his hands, and his eyes darted around the courtroom nervously.

"Don't do anything," Kingsley whispered to me.

Ha. I may not have been able to charge Peter down when I was locked in the hospital, but the traitor was less than twenty feet from me. I could probably make it to his neck before the Aurors stopped me.

I didn't know where in the mess Remus was sitting, but I could only imagine he was fighting a similar urge to strangle Peter.

Madam Bones slammed her gavel several times until the courtroom had shushed itself into a low hum.

"Please state your name for the record," Madam Bones ordered.

Peter looked around nervously. "P-Peter Pettigrew."

Madam Bones shot Mr. Rochester an unhappy look. Obviously she was not a fan of theatrics when it came to her courtroom. "Mr. Rochester, you may proceed."

"Mr. Pettigrew, who was Lily and James's Secret-Keeper?"

I could feel Kingsley's grip tightening on my arm. Next to me, Ms. Novak adjusted agitatedly in her seat.

"S-Sirius was. Dumbledore offered to be it, but James said no."

"Why is that?"

"Because…because James trusted Sirius like a brother, said he would never betray him," said Peter, looking between Rochester and the Wizengamot. "And Sirius…he betrayed them!" He burst into tears. He actually started crying in front of the Wizengamot.

"What happened the next day?" Rochester asked.

Peter wiped his eyes on his sleeve. Merlin, if I didn't want to kill him ten years ago, I certainly did now. "I heard what he did, and—and I knew I would be next! So I tried to hide, but Sirius—he was already after me. I ran. He cornered me on the street. I knew he would kill me! I tried to reason with him, but he blew apart the street, killing everyone around."

"How did you survive?"

Peter seemed to get a grip on himself. He took a steadying breath, then said, "I don't know. But I wasn't going to question it. I knew if Sirius thought I was dead, then I was safe. So I transformed into a rat and disappeared. I've been hiding ever since."

Rochester looked so satisfied with himself. "No further questions, Madam."

Ms. Novak shot to her feet before Rochester had even made it to his own table.

"Were you afraid of Mr. Black?" she asked sharply.

"Y-yes," said Peter. "He had been working for You-Know-Who! He would have killed me!"

"Would you say that Mr. Black was a talented wizard? Skilled in dueling and spell-casting?"

Peter lapped it up. "Yes! He would always pick fights when we were in school; any excuse to duel with someone he hated."

"So tell me," said Ms. Novak, angrier than I had ever seen her. "How a well-trained wizard skilled in dueling missed when he tried to kill you?"

There was a ringing silence. Peter gawked at her.

"How did he miss, Mr. Pettigrew? What happened?" Ms. Novak pressed, her voice increasing in volume.

"I—I don't know!" exclaimed Peter. "It happened so fast, and once it did, it was chaos! So many people died—there was screaming everywhere."

"You say you transformed and hid as a rat to hide from Mr. Black," Ms. Novak continued. "Why didn't you rejoin society when Mr. Black was arrested and locked in Azkaban?"

"He—he would have found a way to come after me! He would kill me!"

Ms. Novak raised a skeptical eyebrow. "How? He was locked away in one of the most heavily-guarded cells."

"There were others," Peter gasped, looking around at the Wizengamot. "Death Eaters who had managed to stay out of Azkaban—they would be sure to come after me for putting one of their best Death Eaters in prison! The spy—Sirius Black!"

"You're lying!"

I was on my feet before I knew it.

"Stop lying, Peter! Admit it! You were the spy!"

Kingsley and Dawlish took an arm each and tried to force me back into my chair.

"Ms. Novak, control your client!" Madam Bones yelled over the chaos.

"You always liked friends who could protect you, didn't you?" I shouted, trying to wrestle free from Kingsley and Dawlish. "And it was Voldemort! You sold Lily and James to Voldemort, you lying sack of—"

"You betrayed them!" Peter shouted, getting to his feet and looking at me for the first time. "I'll never see why we thought you were different from your family! You're a murderer!"

Two Aurors had rushed down to either side of Peter, obviously trying to keep him where he was. Ha, let him come get me if he wanted!

"Admit it!" I roared. Kingsley and Dawlish had a good grip on me now, and in the back of my mind I was sure they would be forced to stun me any moment now. "You betrayed them!"

Before anyone else could do anything sensible, a sudden jet of red light shot through the courtroom, missing Peter by inches and ricocheting. The spell landed on the corner of Madam Bones's desk, blasting the corner off. This set off a wave of more spells as the Aurors all reacted instantly. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Rochester duck underneath his desk, and most of the Wizengamot tried to shield themselves. I swept the room for a glance of Peter, who was being dragged away by an Auror firing off defensive spells. Before I knew it, a sudden wave of people were trying to get out of the benches behind me, leaping over each other. I tried to get out of the way, but I was hit hard in the back and fell.

* * *

><p>I woke up twenty minutes later in someone's office with a familiar pink-faced witch standing over me. Behind her, I could see Ms. Novak, Kingsley, Dawlish, and a multitude of other people I vaguely recognized.<p>

"What-?" was all I could say. It was hard to form a coherent thought. My head was killing me, and directly facing these office lights was making me blind.

"You took a nasty spill," said Hestia. She was holding something against my forehead. It stung.

I frowned, but winced. Moving my face seemed to make the pain worse. "What?"

"In the chaos in the courtroom, people were trying to get out. There was a panic. In their rush to get out, someone in the crowd shoved you out of the way. You hit your head against the table pretty hard," said Kingsley.

"Please just tell me they still have Peter," I said, closing my eyes against the harsh light.

"Yes, Pettigrew's been remanded for his own safety," I heard Ms. Novak say with distaste. "And the wizard responsible for firing the first spell has been arrested by the Aurors for disorderly conduct. Apparently he smuggled his way in to the trial, and attempted to seek justice on Pettigrew himself when he determined the court's decision would not be sufficient."

"The court's been adjourned for the day while this mess is sorted out," said Dawlish. "But unfortunately we can't let you return to Lupin's house."

I forced my eyes open. "Why not?"

"Because of everything that went down today," said Ms. Novak bitterly. "You'll be held in Ministry custody for the night, and everything will be re-evaluated tomorrow."

"They can't seriously believe I had anything to do with—"

"No, but the Wizengamot didn't appreciate the sparring with Pettigrew, either," she said tersely. "They're concerned you might try to break free from Mr. Lupin's custody."

I sighed, closing my eyes again. Hestia stopped pressing whatever it was to my head and began to bandage it up. Ms. Novak excused herself out, and shortly thereafter, Dawlish and Kingsley escorted me out of the office and into the depths of the Department of Mysteries. I was handed over to whatever Auror guard was there—I didn't care to try to remember names—and was roughly led to my newest cell.

It was small, just long enough to fit a dirty cot, and the walls were solid stone. There was no window, just a single light that blazed harshly overhead. A cracked sink and commode were squeezed into the corner, and a single drain sat in the middle of the stone floor. I sat down on the stiff cot, amazed that I had managed to get myself locked up again before the trial was even over.

* * *

><p>The next morning, my unhappy guard escorted me out of my cell, where I met with Kingsley and Dawlish, both of whom looked mentally drained. We walked to the courtroom in silence, with me wearing my shackles early. Ms. Novak met me in our usual spot, looking completely frazzled.<p>

"It's going to be quick this morning," she informed me. "But afterwards, we're staying here until six o'clock or when the Wizengamot reaches a verdict, whichever comes first."

I frowned. "What if they don't come to a decision?"

"Then we leave at six, come back in the morning and do it all over again," she said. "And you had better behave yourself—I had to pull so many strings to get you permission to return to Lupin's house instead of a cell."

"Thanks," I said, feeling a little guilty.

She sighed, checking her watch. "Start saying your prayers."

It was exactly how Ms. Novak had predicted. The security on my trial had been increased twofold after yesterday's fiasco. When both sides affirmed that there was no further evidence, Madam Bones kicked everyone out so the Wizengamot could deliberate. My usual odd group congregated in the small hallway. Remus was allowed to meet us there this time, which was nice. Kingsley removed my shackles and we waited.

All day.

By six, there was still no word. And the next day was exactly the same. Kingsley and Dawlish took turns napping on the benches, and Ms. Novak removed her high heels as she stretched out, looking bored between bouts of paperwork. Remus and I sat on the floor; occasionally I dozed off, but I would always jerk awake again before I really fell asleep.

Finally, late on the third day, a court official entered our hallway with an envelope. He handed it to Ms. Novak, who looked like she had been on the verge of falling asleep. She got to her feet, still barefoot, and tore open the envelope. The last several times merely stated that the court would need to deliberate further, but judging by the look on Ms. Novak's face, it seemed like a decision had been made.

Remus gave me a tight hug, completely white in the face, before returning to his seat in the courtroom. Kingsley and Dawlish both got to their feet as Ms. Novak replaced her shoes. My shackles were returned, and I was led to the most terrifying ordeal of my life. As I waited in my usual chair between Ms. Novak and Kingsley, I wondered what else I could have done to defend myself. I had been dreading giving testimony, but now I suddenly wished I had another chance at it.

But it was too late for wishful thinking. I had done everything I could, and so did those around me. Now it was just up to the eighty witches and wizards dressed in scarlet and purple robes to decide. Honestly, if it was Azkaban, I think I might ask Kingsley to just blow me up.

I tried not to think about it. But Merlin, was it hard.

The court was called to order. I could feel myself shaking. Even Ms. Novak looked horribly anxious.

"We have heard a great deal of testimony, and have poured over an endless amount of evidence," said Madam Bones seriously. The courtroom was deathly silent, except for the scribes writing furiously away as Madam Bones spoke. "This has been, perhaps, the most complicated case the Wizengamot has deliberated upon in a century. We have had to judge evidence gathered during a time of war, and one of peace. Upon deliberating this case, the Wizengamot has deemed it wise to view the evidence with a critical eye. It has been our task to determine if the evidence presented in the last month is enough to uphold a murder conviction handed out ten years ago."

Madam Bones fixed me with a look I couldn't read before continuing. "Will the defendant and counsel please stand?"

Shakily, I got to my feet. Ms. Novak did the same next to me.

"You have given us a powerful case, Mr. Black," she said. "Never before has the Wizengamot had to deliberate for so long." She pulled a slip of parchment toward her, adjusting her monocle, and read, "On Thursday, October twenty-first, of the year nineteen ninety-one, the full Wizengamot court has heard evidence in the case of Sirius Black, and finds the defendant not guilty of all former charges. Further, the Wizengamot has determined the defendant is entitled to retribution to be paid out in the sum of eighty-two thousand, six hundred Galleons, the equivalent of ten years' income, and an additional two-hundred, forty-thousand Galleons to be paid over the defendant's lifetime."

Madam Bones looked up at me, but I didn't understand a single thing she just said.

"Hey," said a voice next to me. I jumped and turned to see Kingsley attempting to remove the shackles around my wrists. I frowned, sure this wasn't allowed.

"Kingsley, what are you-?"

"You're free," he said, amusement in his tired face as he unlocked the heavy shackles.

"I'm what?"

Madam Bones banged her gavel again. "Did you not understand me the first time, Mr. Black? You're free to go. This court is adjourned."

There was chaos as everyone got to their feet and talked excitedly with their neighbors. I turned to look at Ms. Novak, who looked absolutely elated. She shoved court papers in her briefcase haphazardly and turned to me. "We're due to meet with the Minister after this, but before we head up there, I'm sure your friends will want to see you."

I had heard what Madam Bones said, but it didn't really hit me until I saw Remus a minute later. Without preamble, he threw his arms around me. I returned the tight embrace, starting to fully grasp what had just happened. Not only the court proceeding, but everything else that had led up to this moment. Secret-Keepers, James and Lily's murder, Peter faking his death. It was all finally hitting me.

I had to wipe my eyes on the back of my hand hastily. Dumbledore, dressed in his purple Wizengamot robes, met us on the bottom of the courtroom floor. He took one look at me. "My dear boy," he said, drawing me into an embrace. I was surprised to say the least, but still managed to whisper "Thank you."

When the initial shock had worn off, and Kingsley had removed the enchanted cuff from my wrist, we headed up to the Minister's office.

"I'll take you the back way," Kingsley said. "I'm sure you'd like to avoid as much attention as possible, and the media has completely swarmed the atrium."

We ascended a few floors on a rather dodgy-looking lift, until finally we stopped in a grand hallway with polished wooden floors and several official portraits lining the halls. Kingsley led Remus, Ms. Novak, Dumbledore and myself down the hall, stopping outside a set of double oak doors. "Right through here. He ought to know to anticipate your coming."

"Thank you," said Ms. Novak. She and Dumbledore led the way, leaving Remus and I to exchange glances and follow along behind.

We were in a large office, where an enormous oak desk sat in the middle of the room. On all three walls were sets of double doors, the largest of which read "Minister of Magic." Most interesting was the petrified receptionist who sat at the center desk, staring at the visitors in shock.

"Good evening," said Dumbledore pleasantly. "I believe Cornelius is expecting us."

"Yes, o-one moment," she stuttered, getting to her feet. She rushed over to the set of doors directly behind her and knocked before slipping inside.

"Lovely crown molding," Dumbledore commented off-handedly, looking around the office. "It had more of a French theme with the previous Minister."

The anxious receptionist returned. "Yes, he's ready for you know." Her gaze fell on me for a split second before she forced herself to look away.

I had no idea why I was meeting with the Minister of Magic, and to be honest, I wasn't entirely sure who the Minister was, now. Obviously Millicent Bagnold had left, or she would have insisted on sitting in on my court proceedings. Dumbledore said something about a Cornelius, but that name escaped me.

The office was at least twice the size as the one before it, with the walls and ceiling plastered in official Ministry portraits. A flustered-looking man was sorting through a stack of parchment on his desk. A bowler sat next to a forgotten cup of tea nearby.

"Who in their right mind would send a man to Azkaban without so much as an interrogation?" the short man muttered. I wasn't sure if he was talking to himself or any of us, so I just kept quiet. I felt completely weird standing right in front of the Minister of Magic when I had been locked away in Azkaban just three months before. "Right, right…well, have a seat."

I sat down slowly in the chair nearest me, not sure what to expect.

The man set down the huge stack of parchment, sighing, then turned to his strange company. He glanced over everyone once before his eyes landed on me. "I guess first I'll tell you who I am," he said distractedly, holding out a hand. "Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic."

I took his hand, but didn't reply.

"Er, well, what's first?" Fudge said, turning to look at Dumbledore.

"Perhaps a cup of tea?" Dumbledore suggested.

"Right, right, I'll have Allison set us up with a pot. Excuse me—"

I wasn't sure what I had been expecting, but a short, frazzled man offering tea wasn't it. I looked at Remus, who shrugged. Clearly he was just as lost as me.

Once tea had been poured and everyone properly introduced to each other, Fudge finally sat down and ran a hand over his tired face. "There are a few matters I want to clear up," he began, looking at me. "First, do you have a place to stay?"

"He's been staying with me," Remus said. "And he's welcome to stay as long as he likes."

I gave him an appreciative smile as Fudge nodded. "Good. Okay…er, we'll remove the freeze on your Gringott's vault first thing in the morning, so you should have access to your money by then. And speaking of money, your retribution payments should make their way into your accounts by the end of the month." Fudge took a long sip of tea. "What else? Oh, right—as your wand had been destroyed following your arrest ten years, the Ministry has sent an owl to Ollivander's Wand Shop in Diagon Alley to make arrangements for a new one. At your leisure, you can select a new one at no cost.

"Next," Fudge continued, obviously trying to say everything before he forgot it. "is the matter of your estate. Your flat and all its belongings were repossessed by the landowner, but the property at 12 Grimmauld Place has fallen to you. You should receive all the official documents in a few days' time."

I scoffed at that. Fudge frowned, confused.

"I don't want that house." It was the first thing I had said since entering this office.

"Well, after the death of your Mother Walburga five years ago, the property has passed on to you, so you're welcome to do with it as you please," said Fudge.

"What about Harry?" I asked. "Can I see him?"

There was a brief silence as Fudge stared at me before turning to look at Dumbledore. "I'm sure something can be arranged," said Fudge slowly before turning back to face me. "Do you have any other questions for me?"

"What happens to Peter?"

Fudge looked a little uncomfortable at that. "Er, well, he's currently under investigation. That's really all I can tell you."

I was disappointed by that answer, but at least they didn't let him walk off free.

"Anything else?"

I shrugged. "No, I can't really think of anything."

"Excellent," said Fduge, sounding relieved. "Now, if you want, you're welcome to go about as you please. I would recommend keeping a low profile for a week or two; give the public time to absorb the news. But the _Prophet _and all manner of journalists are in the atrium, if you'd like to give a word," Fudge added. His tone sounded like he hoped I wouldn't. And that wasn't a problem, because my last intention was to talk to a reporter.

"Oh, one more thing," Fudge added as Remus and I were about to leave. Ms. Novak and Dumbledore were planning on remaining behind to sort through all my legal paperwork. "Please register your Animagus status in the next thirty days, all right? I don't want the Department to start an affair over that."

"Yeah, sure," I said. Wouldn't that be great: newly exonerated mass killer arrested for illegal transformations.

Remus and I walked down the empty corridor together, neither of us speaking. I turned to look at Remus, and saw that he was smiling. "What?"

Remus looked up, shaking his head. "Nothing."

I shoved him lightly in the arm. "It's not nothing, you're smiling like a buffoon—"

"A baboon?" he said, eyebrows raised. "What do they smile like?"

"No, you git, a _buffoon_."

Remus shrugged. "I was just thinking…you'll get to have a normal life now."

"I'm not so sure normal is the right word," I said hesitantly, pushing the button to summon the lift.

Remus shrugged again. "More normal than it's been since after Harry was born. You can get a job, get the most disgustingly huge house on the market, and go back to seducing women."

I laughed at that. "Yeah, right."

The lift arrived, and clanged noisily up the floors.

Remus turned to look at me once we reached the main floor. "Hagrid still has your old motorbike, you know."

I followed Remus through the hallways. Sure enough, there was a huge crowd of reporters in the main atrium, all congregated around whichever court official was speaking. Not wanting to be noticed, I grabbed Remus's arm and made a beeline for the nearest Fireplace. Before we reached it, however, we were spotted.

"Sirius Black!"

Like a stampede they came rushing over, cameras already flashing.

"Excuse me!" I said hurriedly, dragging Remus to the front of the line of Ministry employees waiting to Floo out. "Pardon us!"

I almost tripped trying to get into the fireplace in my rush, and Remus laughed at me. Behind the line of stunned Ministry workers, I could see the journalists trying to make their way through to us. "Let's go!"

Within seconds, the Ministry swirled away and Remus and I fell out of his fireplace, covered in soot, laughing.

It had been ten years. I was arrested for crimes I didn't commit and spent a third of my life in Azkaban, but I managed to come out clean. I could say that my life had been destroyed by everything that had happened, but James and Lily wouldn't have looked at it that way. And as far as I was concerned, I still owed a debt to them.

First thing in the morning, I would talk to Dumbledore about meeting Harry.

* * *

><p>AN: So that's the last of it. It hasn't been edited, but since this story had been on hiatus for so long I wanted to finish it up. Yay!


	11. Author's NoteSequel Preview

A/N: Hey everyone! So I've been toying with the idea of a sequel, titled "Carry Me Anew." You can find it under my profile. It will continue in the first person narrative of Sirius, but head in a slightly different direction than this story took. Here is a glimpse into the first chapter. Thanks for reading!

Freedom, it turns out, was a lot harder to get used to than I had anticipated.

The first month was a bit of a blur. I spent several days hiding in the safety of Remus's house, not wanting to be the subject of stares or questions. At least a hundred owls flew by each day, dropping off requests for interviews, Howlers, and letters ranging from a congratulations to a call for "anarchy against a tyrannical Ministry that imprisoned innocent people." The owl droppings got to be so bad on the first day that Remus had to put a barrier charm around the perimeter of his property, although this did nothing to stop the growing piles of letters at the foot of his drive.

I'm not really sure in what exact order things happened; Remus took care of making sure all my affairs were tended to. I think he was determined to make me feel normal as quickly as possible. I bought a house in the north, several kilometers from the nearest fruit stand, and filled it with furniture. That was the hard part, shopping for my new house. Remus and I traveled to Diagon Alley, and while I was content to purchase the first things the shopkeeper showed us, Remus was determined that I actually bought what I liked.

Thing is, I had no idea what that might be. Azkaban didn't exactly allow an opportunity for interior decorating. After ten years of sleeping on a cot in a tiny cell, a bed was a bed and a table was an improvement. Knowing that I wouldn't get around to putting anything together myself until I was at least fifty, Remus helped me organize my new household. Beds were set up in the two guest rooms, dishes stored in the new cabinets in the kitchen, and sofas carefully arranged in the other rooms.

I should have bought a one-room shack instead of a house, I realized later. Less space meant less furniture and fewer decisions about what to do with it.

The rest of the house I didn't pay much attention to; I trusted Remus enough to know he wouldn't arrange a pink parlor set in my sitting room. It was the guest rooms that made me wonder what on earth I should be doing, because they were either simply guest rooms, or they were a guest room and Harry's future room.

I was promised I would be able to meet with Harry after Christmas; Dumbledore said Harry had agreed to meet with me, but supposedly there was so much going on at the school before the Christmas break. He didn't say as much, but from what I gathered about a troll break-in and the mysterious attempted robbery at Gringott's, Dumbledore was too preoccupied with something secret to pay me much mind.

I guess I didn't care. Besides, it would probably be better for me to get my shit together before Harry met me and went running for the hills.

Following the house and all its various objects came the matter of my other house: the hated property of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. I had absolutely no desire to step foot there, but I was sure it was too heavily booby-trapped to sell. No doubt my father grew more paranoid and my mother more insane after I ran away. Not to mention it had sat empty for years following the death of my mother; I could only imagine what grew in the darkness there.


End file.
